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J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 
Philadelphia. 


STARLIGHT  RANCH 


AND 


OTHER  STORIES  OF  ARMY 
LIFE  ON  THE   FRONTIER. 


BY 

CAPTAIN    CHARLES    KING,  U-S.A., 

AUTHOR  OF 
"  MARION'S  FAITH,"  "  THB  COLONEL'S  DAUGHTER,"  ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY. 
1896. 


Copyright,  1890,  by  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY, 


H  S 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

STARLIGHT  RANCH 7 

WELL  WON  ;  OB,  FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT"  .  40 

FROM  "THE  POINT"  TO  THE  PLAINS 116 

THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE  TROOP 201 

VAN  .                                                                                       .  234 


STARLIGHT  RANCH. 


WE  were  crouching  round  the  bivouac  fire,  for  the 
night  was  chill,  and  we  were  yet  high  up  along  the 
summit  of  the  great  range.  We  had  been  scouting 
through  the  mountains  for  ten  days,  steadily  working 
southward,  and,  though  far  from  our  own  station,  our 
supplies  were  abundant,  and  it  was  our  leader's  purpose 
to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  the  line  from  old  Sandy  to 
the  Salado,  and  fully  settle  the  question  as  to  whether 
the  renegade  Apaches  had  betaken  themselves,  as  was 
possible,  to  the  heights  of  the  Matitzal,  or  had  made  a 
break  for  their  old  haunts  in  the  Tonto  Basin  or  along 
the  foot-hills  of  the  Black  Mesa  to  the  east.  Strong 
scouting-parties  had  gone  thitherward,  too,  for  "the 
Chief"  was  bound  to  bring  these  Tontos  to  terms ;  but 
our  orders  were  explicit :  "  Thoroughly  scout  the  east 
face  of  the  Matitzal."  We  had  capital  Indian  allies 
with  us.  Their  eyes  were  keen,  their  legs  tireless,  and 
there  had  been  bad  blood  between  them  and  the  tribe 
now  broken  away  from  the  reservation.  They  asked 
nothiag  better  than  a  chance  to  shoot  and  kill  them ; 
so  we  could  feel  well  assured  that  if  "  Tonto  sign"  ap 
peared  anywhere  along  our  path  it  would  instantly  be 
reported.  But  now  we  were  south  of  the  confluence 
of  Tonto  Creek  and  the  Wild  Rye,  and  our  scouts 
declared  that  beyond  that  point  was  the  territory  of 

7 


8  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

the  White  Mountain  Apaches,  where  we  would  not  be 
likely  to  find  the  renegades. 

East  of  us,  as  we  lay  there  in  the  sheltered  nook 
whence  the  glare  of  our  fire  could  not  be  seen,  lay  the 
deep  valley  of  the  Tonto  brawling  along  its  rocky  bed 
on  the  way  to  join  -  the  Salado,  a  few  short  marches 
farther  south.  Beyond  it,  though  we  could  not  see 
them  now,  the  peaks  and  "  birttes"  of  the  Sierra  Ancha 
rolled  up  as  massive  foot-hills  to  the  Mogollon.  All 
through  there  our  scouting-parties  had  hitherto  been 
able  to  find  Indians  whenever  they  really  wanted  to. 
There  were  some  officers  who  couldn't  find  the  Creek 
itself  if  they  thought  Apaches  lurked  along  its  bank, 
and  of  such,  some  of  us  thought,  was  our  leader. 

In  the  dim  twilight  only  a  while  before  I  had  heard 
our  chief  packer  exchanging  confidences  with  one  of 
the  sergeants, — 

"  I  tell  you,  Harry,  if  the  old  man  were  trying  to 
steer  clear  of  all  possibility  of  finding  these  Tontos, 
he  couldn't  have  followed  a  better  track  than  ours  has 
been.  And  he  made  it,  too ;  did  you  notice  ?  Every 
time  the  scouts  tried  to  work  out  to  the  left  he  would 
herd  them  all  back — up-hill." 

"  We  never  did  think  the  lieutenant  had  any  too 
much  sand,"  answered  the  sergeant,  grimly  ;  "  but  any 
man  with  half  an  eye  can  see  that  orders  to  thoroughly 
scout  the  east  face  of  a  range  does  not  mean  keep  on 
top  of  it  as  we've  been  doing.  Why,  in  two  more 
marches  we'll  be  beyond  their  stamping-ground  en 
tirely,  and  then  it's  only  a  slide  down  the  west  face  to 
bring  us  to  those  ranches  in  the  Sandy  Valley.  Ever 
seen  them  ?" 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  9 

"No.  I've  never  been  this  far  down  ;  but  what  do 
you  want  to  bet  that  that's  what  the  lieutenant  is  aim 
ing  at  ?  He  wants  to  get  a  look  at  that  pretty  girl  all 
the  fellows  at  Fort  Phoenix  are  talking  about." 

"Dam'd  old  gray-haired  rip!  It  would  be  just 
like  him.  With  a  wife  and  kids  up  at  Sandy  too." 

There  were  officers  in  the  party,  junior  in  years  of 
life  and  years  of  service  to  the  gray-headed  subaltern 
whom  some  odd  fate  had  assigned  to  the  command  of 
this  detachment,  nearly  two  complete  "  troops"  of  cav 
alry  with  a  pack-train  of  sturdy  little  mules  to  match. 
We  all  knew  that,  as  organized,  one  of  our  favorite 
captains  had  been  assigned  the  command,  and  that  be 
tween  "  the  Chief,"  as  we  called  our  general,  and  him 
a  perfect  understanding  existed  as  to  just  how  thorough 
and  searching  this  scout  should  be.  The  general  him 
self  came  down  to  Sandy  to  superintend  the  start  of 
the  various  commands,  and  rode  away  after  a  long  in 
terview  with  our  good  old  colonel,  and  after  seeing  the 
two  parties  destined  for  the  Black  Mesa  and  the  Tonto 
Basin  well  on  their  way.  We  were  to  move  at  night 
fall  the  following  day,  and  within  an  hour  of  the  time 
of  starting  a  courier  rode  in  from  Prescott  with  de 
spatches  (it  was  before  our  military  telegraph  line 
was  built),  and  the  commander  of  the  division — the 
superior  of  our  Arizona  chief — ordered  Captain  Tanner 
to  repair  at  once  to  San  Francisco  as  witness  before  an 
important  court-martial.  A  groan  went  up  from  more 
than  one  of  us  when  we  heard  the  news,  for  it  meant 
nothing  less  than  that  the  command  of  the  most  im 
portant  expedition  of  all  would  now  devolve  upon  the 
senior  first  lieutenant,  Gleason ;  and  so  much  did  it 


10  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

worry  Mr.  Blake,  his  junior  by  several  files,  that  tie 
went  at  once  to  Colonel  Pelham,  and  begged  to  be  re 
lieved  from  duty  with  that  column  and  ordered  to 
overtake  one  of  the  others.  The  colonel,  of  course, 
would  listen  to  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  to  Gleason's 
immense  and  evident  gratification  we  were  marched 
forth  under  his  command.  There  had  been  no  friction, 
however.  Despite  his  gray  beard,  Gleason  was  not 
an  old  man,  and  he  really  strove  to  be  courteous  and 
conciliatory  to  his  officers, — he  was  always  considerate 
towards  his  men ;  but  by  the  time  we  had  been  out  ten 
days,  having  accomplished  nothing,  most  of  us  were 
thoroughly  disgusted.  Some  few  ventured  to  remon 
strate.  Angry  words  passed  between  the  commander 
and  Mr.  Blake,  and  on  the  night  on  which  our  story 
begins  there  was  throughout  the  command  a  feeling 
that  we  were  simply  being  trifled  with. 

The  chat  between  our  chief  packer  and  Sergeant 
Merrick  ceased  instantly  as  I  came  forward  and  passed 
them  on  the  way  to  look  over  the  herd  guard  of  the 
little  battalion,  but  it  set  me  to  thinking.  This  was 
not  the  first  that  the  officers  of  the  Sandy  garrison  had 
heard  of  those  two  new  "  ranches"  established  within 
the  year  down  in  the  hot  but  fertile  valley,  and  not 
more  than  four  hours'  easy  gallop  from  Fort  Phoenix, 
where  a  couple  of  troops  of  "  Ours"  were  stationed. 
The  people  who  had  so  confidently  planted  themselves 
there  were  evidently  well  to  do,  and  they  brought  with 
them  a  good-sized  retinue  of  ranch-  and  herdsmen, — 
mainly  Mexicans, — plenty  of  "  stock,"  and  a  complete 
"camp  outfit,"  which  served  them  well  until  they 
could  raise  the  adobe  walls  and  finish  their  homesteads. 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  \\ 

Curiosity  led  occasional  parties  of  officers  or  enlisted 
men  to  spend  a  day  in  saddle  and  thus  to  visit  these 
enterprising  neighbors.  Such  parties  were  always 
civilly  received,  invited  to  dismount,  and  soon  to  take 
a  bite  of  luncheon  with  the  proprietors,  while  their 
horses  were  promptly  led  away,  unsaddled,  rubbed 
down,  and  at  the  proper  time  fed  and  watered.  The 
officers,  of  course,  had  introduced  themselves  and 
proffered  the  hospitality  and  assistance  of  the  fort. 
The  proprietors  had  expressed  all  proper  appreciation, 
and  declared  that  if  anything  should  happen  to  be 
needed  they  would  be  sure  to  call ;  but  they  were  too 
busy,  they  explained,  to  make  social  visits.  They  were 
hard  at  work,  as  the  gentlemen  could  see,  getting  up 
their  houses  and  their  corrals,  for,  as  one  of  them  ex 
pressed  it,  "  We've  come  to  stay."  There  were  three 
of  these  pioneers;  two  of  them,  brothers  evidently, 
gave  the  name  of  Crocker.  The  third,  a  tall,  swarthy, 
all-over-frontiersman,  was  introduced  by  the  others  as 
Mr.  Burnham.  Subsequent  investigations  led  to  the 
fact  that  Burnham  was  first  cousin  to  the  Crockers. 
"Been  long  in  Arizona?"  had  been  asked,  and  the 
elder  Crocker  promptly  replied,  "No,  only  a  year, — 
mostly  prospecting." 

The  Crockers  were  building  down  towards  the 
stream ;  but  Burnham,  from  some  freak  which  he  did 
not  explain,  had  driven  his  stakes  and  was  slowly 
getting  up  his  walls  half  a  mile  south  of  the  other 
homestead,  and  high  up  on  a  spur  of  foot-hill  that 
stood  at  least  three  hundred  feet  above  the  general 
level  of  the  valley.  From  his  "  coigne  of  vantage"  the 
whitewashed  walls  and  the  bright  colors  of  the  flag  of 


12  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

the  fort  could  be  dimly  made  out, — twenty  odd  miles 
down  stream. 

"Every  now  and  then,"  said  Captain  Wayne,  who 
happened  up  our  way  on  a  general  court,  "  a  bull-train 
— a  small  one— went  past  the  fort  on  its  way  up  to  the 
ranches,  carrying  lumber  and  all  manner  of  supplies, 
but  they  never  stopped  and  camped  near  the  post  either 
going  or  coming,  as  other  trains  were  sure  to  do.  They 
never  seemed  to  want  anything,  even  at  the  sutler's 
store,  though  the  Lord  knows  there  wasn't  much  there 
they  could  want  except  tanglefoot  and  tobacco.  The 
bull-train  made  perhaps  six  trips  in  as  many  months, 
and  by  that  time  the  glasses  at  the  fort  could  make 
out  that  Burnham's  place  was  all  finished,  but  never 
once  had  either  of  the  three  proprietors  put  in  an  ap 
pearance,  as  invited,  which  was  considered  not  only 
extraordinary  but  unneighborly,  and  everybody  quit 
riding  out  there." 

"  But  the  funniest  thing,"  said  Wayne,  "  happened 
one  night  when  I  was  officer  of  the  day.  The  road 
up-stream  ran  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  post 
of  the  sentry  on  No.  3,  which  post  was  back  of  the 
officer's  quarters,  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above 
the  stables,  corrals,  etc.  I  was  making  the  rounds 
about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  night  was 
bright  and  clear,  though  the  moon  was  low,  and  I 
came  upon  Dexter,  one  of  the  sharpest  men  in  my 
troop,  as  the  sentry  on  No.  3.  After  I  had  given  him 
the  countersign  and  was  about  going  on, — for  there 
was  no  use  in  asking  him  if  he  knew  his  orders, — he 
stopped  me  to  ask  if  I  had  authorized  the  stable-ser 
geant  to  let  out  one  of  the  ambulances  within  the  hour, 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  13 

Of  course  I  was  amazed  and  said  no.  '  Well/  said  he, 
'  not  ten  minutes  ago  a  four-mule  ambulance  drove  up 
the  road  yonder  going  full  tilt,  and  I  thought  some- 
•  thing  was  wrong,  but  it  was  far  beyond  my  challenge 
limit.'  You  can  understand  that  I  went  to  the  stables 
on  the  jump,  ready  to  scalp  the  sentry  there,  the  ser 
geant  of, the  guard,  and  everybody  else.  I  sailed  into 
the  sentry  first  and  he  was  utterly  astonished ;  he  swore 
that  every  horse,  mule,  and  wagon  was  in  its  proper 
place.  I  routed  out  the  old  stable-sergeant  and  we 
went  through  everything  with  his  lantern.  There 
wasn't  a  spoke  or  a  hoof  missing.  Then  I  went  back 
to  Dexter  and  asked  him  what  he'd  been  drinking,  and 
he  seemed  much  hurt.  I  told  him  every  wheel  at  the 
fort  was  in  its  proper  rut  and  that  nothing  could  have 
gone  out.  Neither  could  there  have  been  a  four-mule 
ambulance  from  elsewhere.  There  wasn't  a  civilized 
corral  within  fifty  miles  except  those  new  ranches  up 
the  valley,  and  they  had  no  such  rig.  All  the  same, 
Dexter  stuck  to  his  story,  and  it  ended  in  our  getting 
a  lantern  and  going  down  to  the  road.  By  Gad  !  he 
was  right.  There,  in  the  moist,  yielding  sand,  were  the 
fresh  tracks  of  a  four-mule  team  and  a  Concord  wagon 
or  something  of  the  same  sort.  So  much  for  that 
night ! 

"  Next  evening  as  a  lot  of  us  were  sitting  out  on  the 
major's  piazza,  and  young  Briggs  of  the  infantry  was 
holding  forth  on  the  constellations, — you  know  he's  a 
good  deal  of  an  astronomer, — Mrs.  Powell  suddenly 
turned  to  him  with  '  But  you  haven't  told  us  the  name 
of  that  bright  planet  low  down  there  in  the  northern 
sky/  and  we  all  turned  and  looked  where  she  pointed. 

2 


14  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

Briggs  looked  too.  It  was  only  a  little  lower  than 
some  stars  of  the  second  and  third  magnitude  that  he 
had  been  telling  about  only  five  minutes  before,  only  it 
shone  with  a  redder  or  yellower  glare, — orange  I  sup 
pose  was  the  real  color, — and  was  clear  and  strong  as 
the  light  of  Jupiter. 

" '  That  ?'  says  Briggs.  '  Why,  that  must  be • 

Well,  I  own  up.  I  declare  I  never  knew  there  was  so 
big  a  star  in  that  part  of  the  firmament  V 

" '  Don't  worry  about  it,  Briggs,  old  boy/  drawled 
the  major,  who  had  been  squinting  at  it  through  a  pow 
erful  glass  he  owns.  '  That's  terra  firmament.  That 
planet's  at  the  new  ranch  up  on  the  spur  of  the  Matit- 
zal.' 

"  But  that  wasn't  all.  Two  days  after,  Baker  came 
in  from  a  scout.  He  had  been  over  across  the  range 
and  had  stopped  at  Burnham's  on  his  way  down.  He 
didn't  see  Burnham ;  he  wasn't  invited  in,  but  he  was 
full  of  his  subject.  '  By  Jove  !  fellows.  Have  any  of 
you  been  to  the  ranches  lately  ?  No  ?  Well,  then,  I 
want  to  get  some  of  the  ladies  to  go  up  there  and  call. 
In  all  my  life  I  never  saw  so  pretty  a  girl  as  was  sitting 
there  on  the  piazza  when  I  rode  around  the  corner  of 
the  house.  Pretty !  She's  lovely.  Not  Mexican.  No, 
indeed!  A  real  American  girl, — a  young  lady,  by 
Gad !"  That,  then,  explained  the  new  light. 

"  And  did  that  give  the  ranch  the  name  by  which  it 
is  known  to  you  ?"  we  asked  Wayne. 

"Yes.  The  ladies  called  it  ' Starlight  Eanch'  from 
that  night  on.  But  not  one  of  them  has  seen  the  girl. 
Mrs.  Frazer  and  Mrs.  Jennings  actually  took  the  long 
drive  and  asked  for  the  ladies,  and  were  civilly  told 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  15 

that  there  were  none  at  home.  It  was  a  Chinese  ser 
vant  who  received  them.  They  inquired  for  Mr. 
Burnham  and  he  was  away  too.  They  asked  how 
many  ladies  there  were,  and  the  Chinaman  shook  his 
head — ( No  sabe.'  f  Had  Mr.  Burnham's  wife  and 
daughter  come  ?'  '  No  sabe.'  '  Were  Mr.  Burnham 
and  the  ladies  over  at  the  other  ranch  ?'  '  No  sabe/ 
still  affably  grinning,  and  evidently  personally  pleased 
to  see  the  strange  ladies ;  but  that  Chinaman  was  no 
fool ;  he  had  his  instructions  and  was  carrying  them 
out ;  and  Mrs.  Frazer,  whose  eyes  are  very  keen,  was 
confident  that  she  saw  the  curtains  in  an  upper  window 
gathered  just  so  as  to  admit  a  pair  of  eyes  to  peep 
down  at  the  fort  wagon  with  its  fair  occupants.  But 
the  face  of  which  she  caught  a  glimpse  was  not  that  pf 
a  young  woman.  They  gave  the  Chinaman  their  cards, 
which  he  curiously  inspected  and  was  evidently  at  a  loss 
what  to  do  with,  and  after  telling  him  to  give  them  to 
the  ladies  when  they  came  home  they  drove  over  to  the 
Crocker  Ranch.  Here  only  Mexicans  were  visible 
about  the  premises,  and,  though  Mrs.  Frazer's  Spanish 
was  equal  to  the  task  of  asking  them  for  water  for  her 
self  and  friend,  she  could  not  get  an  intelligible  reply 
from  the  swarthy  Ganymede  who  brought  them  the 
brimming  glasses  as  to  the  ladies — Las  senoras — at  the 
other  ranch.  They  asked  for  the  Crockers,  and  the 
Mexican  only  vaguely  pointed  up  the  valley.  It  was 
in  defeat  and  humiliation  that  the  ladies  with  their 
escort,  Mr.  Baker,  returned  to  the  fort,  but  Baker  rode 
up  again  and  took  a  comrade  with  him,  and  they  both 
saw  the  girl  with  the  lovely  face  and  form  this  time, 
and  had  almost  accosted  her  when  a  sharp,  stern  voice 


16  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

called  her  with  ID.  A  fortnight  more  and  a  dozen  men, 
officers  or  soldiers,  had  rounded  that  ranch  and  had 
seen  two  women, — one  middle-aged,  the  other  a  girl  of 
about  eighteen  who  was  fair  and  bewi  tellingly  pretty. 
Baker  had  bowed  to  her  and  she  had  smiled  sweetly  on 
him,  even  while  being  drawn  within  doors.  One  or 
two  men  had  cornered  Burnhain  and  began  to  ask 
questions.  '  Gentlemen/  said  he,  '  I'm  a  poor  hand  at 
talk.  I've  no  education.  I've  lived  on  the  frontier  all 
my  life.  I  mean  no  oifence,  but  I  cannot  answer  your 
questions  and  I  cannot  ask  you  into  my  house.  For 
explanation,  I  refer  you  to  Mr.  Crocker/  Then  Baker 
and  a  chum  of  his  rode  over  and  called  on  the  elder 
Crocker,  and  asked  for  the  explanation.  That  only 
added  to  the  strangeness  of  the  thing. 

"'It  is  true,  gentlemen,  that  Mr.  Burnham's  wife 
and  child  are  now  with  him ;  but,  partially  because  of 
'ier,  his  wife's,  infirm  health,  and  partially  because  of 
i  most  distressing  and  unfortunate  experience  in  his 
past,  our  kinsman  begs  that  no  one  will  attempt  to 
call  at  the  ranch.  He  appreciates  all  the  courtesy  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  at  the  fort  would  show,  and  have 
shown,  but  he  feels  compelled  to  decline  all  intercourse. 
We  are  beholden,  in  a  measure,  to  Mr.  Burnham,  and 
have  to  be  guided  by  his  wishes.  \Ve  are  young  men 
compared  to  him,  and  it  was  through  him  that  we 
came  to  seek  our  fortune  here,  but  he  is  virtually  the 
head  of  both  establishments.'  Well.  There  was  noth 
ing  more  to  be  said,  and  the  boys  came  away.  One 
thing  more  transpired.  Burnham  gave  it  out  that  he 
had  lived  in  Texas  before  the  war,  and  had  fought 
all  the  way  through  in  the  Confederate  service.  He 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  17 

thought  the  officers  ought  to  know  this.  It  was  the 
major  himself  to  whom  he  told  it,  and  when  the 
major  replied  that  he  considered  the  war  over  and  that 
that  made  no  difference,  Burnham,  with  a  clouded  face 
replied,  '  Well,  mebbe  it  don't — to  you/  Whereupon 
the  major  fired  up  and  told  him  that  if  he  chose  to  be 
an  unreconstructed  reb,  when  Union  officers  and  gen 
tlemen  were  only  striving  to  be  civil  to  him,  he  might 
'go  ahead  and  be  d — d/  and  came  away  in  high  dud 
geon."  And  so  matters  stood  up  to  the  last  we  had 
heard  from  Fort  Phoenix,  except  for  one  letter  which 
Mrs.  Frazer  wrote  to  Mrs.  Turner  at  Sandy,  perhaps 
purely  out  of  feminine  mischief,  because  a  year  or  so 
previous  Baker,  as  a  junior  second  lieutenant,  was 
doing  the  devoted  to  Mrs.  Turner,  a  species  of  mildly 
amatory  apprenticeship  which  most  of  the  young  offi 
cers  seemed  impelled  to  serve  on  first  joining.  "  We 
are  having  such  a  romance  here  at  Phoenix.  You 
have  doubtless  heard  of  the  beautiful  girl  at  '  Starlight 
Ranch/  as  we  call  the  Burnham  place,  up  the  valley. 
Everybody  who  called  has  been  rebuffed;  but,  after 
catching  a  few  glimpses  of  her,  Mr.  Baker  became 
completely  infatuated  and  rode  up  that  way  three  or 
four  times  a  week.  Of  late  he  has  ceased  going  in  the 
daytime,  but  it  is  known  that  he  rides  out  towards 
dusk  and  gets  back  long  after  midnight,  sometimes  not 
till  morning.  Of  course  it  takes  four  hours,  nearly,  to 
come  from  there  full-speed,  but  though  Major  Tracy 
will  admit  nothing,  it  must  be  that  Mr.  Baker  has  his 
permission  to  be  away  at  night.  We  all  believe  that  it 
is  another  case  of  love  laughing  at  locksmiths  and  that 
in  some  way  they  contrive  to  meet.  One  thing  is  cer- 
.  b  2* 


18  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

tain, — Mr.  Baker  is  desperately  in  love  and  will  per 
mit  no  trifling  with  him  on  the  subject."  Ordinarily, 
I  suppose,  such  a  letter  would  have  been  gall  and 
wormwood  to  Mrs.  Turner,  but  as  young  Hunter,  a 
new  appointment,  was  now  a  devotee,  and  as  it  was  a 
piece  of  romantic  news  which  interested  all  Camp 
Sandy,  she  read  the  letter  to  one  lady  after  another, 
and  so  it  became  public  property.  Old  Catnip,  as  we 
called  the  colonel,  was  disposed  to  be  a  little  worried  on 
the  subject.  Baker  was  a  youngster  in  whom  he  had 
some  interest  as  being  a  distant  connection  of  his  wife's, 
but  Mrs.  Pelham  had  not  come  to  Arizona  with  us, 
and  the  good  old  fellow  was  living  en  garqon  with  the 
Mess,  where,  of  course,  the  matter  was  discussed  in  all 
its  bearings. 

All  these  things  recurred  to  me  as  I  pottered  around 
through  the  herds  examining  side-lines,  etc.,  and  look 
ing  up  the  guards.  Ordinarily  our  scouting  parties 
were  so  small  that  we  had  no  such  thing  as  an  officer- 
of-the-day, — nor  had  we  now  when  Gleason  could  have 
been  excused  for  ordering  one,  but  he  evidently  desired 
to  do  nothing  that  might  annoy  his  officers.  He  might 
want  them  to  stand  by  him  when  it  came  to  reporting 
the  route  and  result  of  the  scout.  All  the  same,  he 
expected  that  the  troop  officers  would  give  personal 
supervision  to  their  command,  and  especially  to  look 
after  their  "  herds,"  and  it  was  this  duty  that  took  me 
away  from  the  group  chatting  about  the  bivouac  fire 
preparatory  to  "  turning  in"  for  the  night. 

When  I  got  back,  a  tall,  gray- haired  trooper  was 
"standing  attention"  in  front  of  the  commanding  offi 
cer,  and  had  evidently  just  made  some  report,  for  Mr. 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  19 

Gleason  nodded  hiss  head  appreciatively  and  then  said 
kindly, — 

"You  did  perfectly  light,  corporal.  Instruct  your 
men  to  keep  a  lookout  for  it,  and  if  seen  again  to-night 
to  call  me  at  once.  I'll  bring  my  field -glass  and  we'll 
see  what  it  is." 

The  trooper  raised  his  left  hand  to  the  "carried" 
carbine  in  salute  and  turned  away.  When  he  was  out 
of  earshot,  Gleason  spoke  to  the  silent  group, — 

"  Now,  there's  a  case  in  point.  If  I  had  command 
of  a  troop  and  could  get  old  Potts  into  it  I  could  make 
something  of  him,  and  I  know  it." 

Gleason  had  consummate  faith  in  his  "  system"  with 
the  rank  and  file,  and  no  respect  for  that  of  any  of  the 
captains.  Nobody  said  anything.  Blake  hated  him 
and  puffed  unconcernedly  at  his  pipe,  with  a  display 
of  absolute  indifference  to  his  superior's  views  that  the 
latter  did  not  fail  to  note.  The  others  knew  what  a 
trial  "  old  Potts"  had  been  to  his  troop  commander,  and 
did  not  believe  that  Gleason  could  "reform"  him  at 
will.  The  silence  was  embarrassing,  so  I  inquired, — 

"  What  had  he  to  report?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  of  any  consequence.  He  and  one  of 
the  sentries  saw  what  they  took  to  be  an  Indian  signal- 
fire  up  Tonto  Creek.  It  soon  smouldered  away, — but 
I  always  make  it  a  point  to  show  respect  to  these  old 
soldiers." 

"  You  show  d — d  little  respect  for  their  reports  all 
the  same,"  said  Blake,  suddenly  shooting  up  on  a  pair 
of  legs  that  looked  like  stilts.  "An  Indian  signal-fire 
is  a  matter  of  a  heap  of  consequence  in  my  opinion ;" 
and  he  wrathful ly  stalked  away. 


20  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

For  some  reason  Gleason  saw  fit  to  take  no  notice 
of  this  piece  of  insubordination.  Placidly  he  resumed 
his  chat, — 

"  Now,  you  gentlemen  seem  skeptical  about  Potts. 
Do  any  of  you  know  his  history  ?" 

"  Well,  I  know  he's  about  the  oldest  soldier  in  the 
regiment ;  that  he  served  in  the  First  Dragoons  when 
they  were  in  Arizona  twenty  years  ago,  and  that  he 
gets  drunk  as  a  boiled  owl  every  pay-day,"  was  an 
immediate  answer. 

"  Very  good  as  far  as  it  goes,"  replied  Gleason,  with 
a  superior  smile;  "but  I'll  just  tell  you  a  chapter  in 
his  life  he  never  speaks  of  and  I  never  dreamed  of 
until  the  last  time  I  was  in  San  Francisco.  There  I 
met  old  General  Starr  at  the  *  Occidental/  and  almost 
the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  inquire  for  Potts,  and 
then  he  told  me  about  him.  He  was  one  of  the  finest 
sergeants  in  Starr's  troop  in  '53, — a  dashing,  hand 
some  fellow, — and  while  in  at  Fort  Leavenworth  he 
had  fallen  in  love  with,  won,  and  married  as  pretty  a 
young  girl  as  ever  came  into  the  regiment.  She  came 
out  to  New  Mexico  with  the  detachment  with  which 
he  served,  and  was  the  belle  of  all  the  '  bailed  given 
either  by  the  '  greasers'  or  the  enlisted  men.  He  was 
proud  of  her  as  he  could  be,  and  old  Starr  swore  that 
the  few  ladies  of  the  regiment  who  were  with  them  at 
old  Fort  Fillmore  or  Stanton  were  really  jealous  of  her. 
Even  some  of  the  young  officers  got  to  saying  sweet 
things  to  her,  and  Potts  came  to  the  captain  about  it, 
and  he  had  it  stopped ;  but  the  girl's  head  was  turned. 
There  was  a  handsome  young  fellow  in  the  sutler's 
store  who  kept  making  her  presents  on  the  sly,  and 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  21 

when  at  last  Potts  found  it  out  he  nearly  hammered 
the  life  out  of  him.  Then  came  that  campaign  against 
the  Jicarilla  Apaches,  and  Potts  had  to  go  with  his 
troop  and  leave  her  at  the  cantonment,  where,  to  be 
sure,  there  were  ladies  and  plenty  of  people  to  look 
after  her;  and  in  the  fight  at  Cieneguilla  poor  Potts 
was  badly  wounded,  and  it  was  some  months  before  they 
got  back ;  and  meantime  the  sutler  fellow  had  got  in  his 
work,  and  when  the  command  finally  came  in  with  its 
wounded  they  had  skipped,  no  one  knew  where.  If 
Potts  hadn't  been  taken  down  with  brain  fever  on  top 
of  his  wound  he  would  have  followed  their  trail,  deser 
tion  or  no  desertion,  but  he  was  a  broken  man  when  he 
got  out  of  hospital.  The  last  thing  old  Starr  said  to 
me  was,  '  Now,  Gleason,  I  want  you  to  be  kind  to  my 
old  sergeant ;  he  served  all  through  the  war,  and  I've 
never  forgiven  them  in  the  First  for  going  back  on 
him  and  refusing  to  re-enlist  him  ;  but  the  captains, 
one  and  all,  said  it  was  no  use ;  he  had  sunk  lower  and 
lower;  was  perfectly  unreliable;  spent  nine-tenths  of  his 
time  in  the  guard-house  and  all  his  money  in  whiskey ; 
and  one  after  another  they  refused  to  take  him." 

"  How'd  we  happen  to  get  him,  then  ?"  queried  one 
of  our  party. 

"He  showed  up  at  San  Francisco,  neat  as  a  new 
pin ;  exhibited  several  fine  discharges,  but  said  nothing 
of  the  last  two,  and  was  taken  into  the  regiment  as  we 
were  going  through.  Of  course,  its  pretty  much  as 
they  said  in  the  First  when  we're  in  garrison,  but, 
once  out  scouting,  days  away  from  a  drop  of '  tangle 
foot/  and  he  does  first  rate.  That's  how  he  got  his 
corporal's  chevrons." 


22  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

"  He'll  lose  'em  again  before  we're  back  at  Sandy 
forty-eight  hours,"  growled  Blake,  strolling  up  to  the 
party  again. 

But  he  did  not.  Prophecies  failed  this  time,  and 
old  Potts  wore  those  chevrons  to  the  last. 

He  was  a  good  prophet  and  a  keen  judge  of  human 
nature  as  exemplified  in  Gleason,  who  said  that  "  the 
old  man"  was  planning  for  a  visit  to  the  new  ranches 
above  Fort  Phoenix.  A  day  or  two  farther  we  plodded 
along  down  the  range,  our  Indian  scouts  looking  re 
proachfully — even  sullenly — at  the  commander  at  every 
halt,  and  then  came  the  order  to  turn  back.  Two 
marches  more,  and  the  little  command  went  into  biv 
ouac  close  under  the  eaves  of  Fort  Phoenix  and  we 
were  exchanging  jovial  greetings  with  our  brother  offi 
cers  at  the  post.  Turning  over  the  command  to  Lieu 
tenant  Blake,  Mr.  Gleason  went  up  into  the  garrison 
with  his  own  particular  pack-mule;  billeted  himself 
on  the  infantry  commanding  officer — the  major — and 
in  a  short  time  appeared  freshly-shaved  and  in  the 
neatest  possible  undress  uniform,  ready  to  call  upon 
the  few  ladies  at  the  post,  and  of  course  to  make  fre 
quent  reference  to  "  my  battalion,"  or  "my  command," 
down  beyond  the  dusty,  dismal  corrals.  The  rest  of 
us,  having  come  out  for  business,  had  no  uniforms, 
nothing  but  the  rough  field,  scouting  rig  we  wore  on 
such  duty,  and  every  man's  chin  was  bristling  with  a 
two-weeks'-old  beard. 

"I'm  going  to  report  Gleason  for  this  thing,"  swore 
Bl;ike;  "  you  see  if  I  don't,  the  moment  we  get  back." 

The  rest  of  us  were  "  hopping  mad,"  too,  but  held 
our  tongues  so  long  as  we  were  around  Phoenix.  We 


STARLIGHT  RANCH  23 

did  not  want  them  there  to  believe  there  was  dissen 
sion  and  almost  mutiny  impending.  Some  of  us  got 
permission  from  Blake  to  go  up  to  the  post  with  its 
hospitable  officers,  and  I  was  one  who  strolled  up  to 
"the  store"  after  dark.  There  we  found  the  major, 
and  Captain  Frazer,  and  Captain  Jennings,  and  most 
of  the  youngsters,  but  Baker  was  absent.  Of  course 
the  talk  soon  drifted  to  and  settled  on  "  Starlight 
Ranch,"  and  by  tattoo  most  of  the  garrison  crowd 
were  talking  like  so  many  Prussians,  all  at  top-voice 
and  all  at  once.  Every  man  seemed  to  have  some 
theory  of  his  own  with  regard  to  the  peculiar  conduct 
of  Mr.  Burnham,  but  no  one  dissented  from  the  quiet 
remark  of  Captain  Frazer : 

"  As  for  Baker's  relations  with  the  daughter,  he  is 
simply  desperately  in  love  and  means  to  marry  her. 
He  tells  my  wife  that  she  is  educated  and  far  more 
refined  than  her  surroundings  would  indicate,  but  that 
he  is  refused  audience  by  both  Burnham  and  his  wife, 
and  it  is  only  at  extreme  risk  that  he  is  able  to  meet 
his  lady-love  at  all.  Some  nights  she  is  entirely  pre 
vented  from  slipping  out  to  see  him." 

Presently  in  came  Gleason,  beaming  and  triumphant 
from  his  round  of  calls  among  the  fair  sex,  and  ready 
now  for  the  game  he  loved  above  all  things  on  earth, — 
poker.  For  reasons  which  need  not  be  elaborated  here 
no  officer  in  our  command  would  play  with  him,  and 
an  ugly  rumor  was  going  the  rounds  at  Sandy,  just  be 
fore  we  came  away,  that,  in  a  game  at  Olsen's  ranch  on 
the  Aqua  Fria  about  three  weeks  before,  he  had  had  his 
face  slapped  by  Lieutenant  Ray  of  our  own  regiment. 
But  Ray  had  gone  to  his  lonely  post  at  Camp  Cameron, 


24  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

and  there  was  no  one  by  whom  we  could  verify  it  ex 
cept  some  ranchmen,  who  declared  that  Gleason  had 
cheated  at  cards,  and  B,ay  "  had  been  a  little  too  full," 
as  they  put  it,  to  detect  the  fraud  until  it  seemed  to 
flash  upon  him  all  of  a  sudden.  A  game  began,  how 
ever,  with  three  local  officers  as  participants,  so  pres 
ently  Carroll  and  I  withdrew  and  went  back  to  bivouac. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  Corporal  Potts?"  was 
the  first  question  asked  by  Mr.  Blake. 

"  Not  a  thing.     Why  ?     Is  he  missing  ?" 

"  Been  missing  for  an  hour.  He  was  talking  with 
some  of  these  garrison  soldiers  here  just  after  the  men 
had  come  in  from  the  herd,  and  what  I'm  afraid  of  is 
that  he'll  go  up  into  the  post  and  get  bilin'  full  there. 
I've  sent  other  non-commissioned  officers  after  him,  but 
they  cannot  find  him.  He  hasn't  even  looked  in  at  the 
store,  so  the  bar-tender  swears." 

"The  sly  old  rascal!"  said  Carroll.  "He  knows 
perfectly  well  how  to  get  all  the  liquor  he  wants  with 
out  exposing  himself  in  the  least.  No  doubt  if  the 
bar-tender  were  asked  if  he  had  not  filled  some  flasks 
this  evening  he  would  say  yes,  and  Potts  is  probably 
stretched  out  comfortably  in  the  forage-loft  of  one  of 
the  stables,  with  a  canteen  of  water  and  his  flask  of 
bug-juice,  prepared  to  make  a  night  of  it." 

Blake  moodily  gazed  into  the  embers  of  the  bivouac- 
fire.  Never  had  we  seen  him  so  utterly  unlike  him 
self  as  on  this  burlesque  of  a  scout,  and  now  that  we 
were  virtually  homeward-bound,  and  empty-handed 
too,  he  was  completely  weighed  down  by  the  conscious 
ness  of  our  lost  opportunities.  If  something  could 
only  have  happened  to  Gleason  before  the  start,  so  that 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  25 

the  command  might  have  devolved  on  Blake,  we  all 
felt  that  a  very  different  account  could  have  been  ren 
dered  ;  for  with  all  his  rattling,  ranting  fun  around 
the  garrison,  he  was  a  gallant  and  dutiful  soldier  in 
the  field.  It  was  now  after  ten  o'clock ;  most  of  the 
men,  rolled  in  their  blankets,  were  sleeping  on  the 
scant  turf  that  could  be  found  at  intervals  in  the  half- 
sandy  soil  below  the  corrals  and  stables.  The  herds 
of  the  two  troops  and  the  pack-mules  were  all  cropping 
peacefully  at  the  hay  that  had  been  liberally  distributed 
among  them  because  there  was  hardly  grass  enough  for 
a  "  burro."  We  were  all  ready  to  turn  in,  but  there 
stood  our  temporary  commander,  his  long  legs  a-strad- 
dle,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  and  the  flickering 
Alight  of  the  fire  betraying  in  his  face  both  profound 
dejection  and  disgust. 

"  I  wouldn't  care  so  much,"  said  he  at  last,  "  but  it 
will  give  Gleason  a  chance  to  say  that  things  always 
go  wrong  when  he's  away.  Did  you  see  him  up  at  the 
post  ?"  he  suddenly  asked.  "  What  was  he  doing, 
Carroll?" 

"  Poker,"  was  the  sententious  reply. 

"  What  ?"  shouted  Blake.  "  Poker  ?  '  I  thank  thee, 
good  Tubal, — good  news, — good  news !'  "  he  ranted, 
with  almost  joyous  relapse  into  his  old  manner.  "  '  O 
Lady  Fortune,  stand  you  auspicious',  for  those  fellows 
at  Phoenix,  I  mean,  and  may  they  scoop  our  worthy 
chieftain  of  his  last  ducat.  See  what  it  means,  fellows. 
Win  or  lose,  he'll  play  all  night,  he'll  drink  much  if  it 
go  agin'  him,  and  I  pray  it  may.  He'll  be  too  sick, 
when  morning  comes,  to  join  us,  and,  by  my  faith,  we'll 
leave  his  horse  and  orderly  and  march  away  without 


26  STARLIGHT  RANCH 

him.  As  for  Potts, — an  he  appear  not, — we'll  let  him 
play  hide-and-seek  with  his  would-be  reformer.  Hullo  ! 
What's  that?" 

There  was  a  sound  of  alternate  shout  and  challenge 
towards  where  the  horses  were  herded  on  the  level 
stretch  below  us.  The  sergeant  of  the  guard  was 
running  rapidly  Jhither  as  Carroll  and  I  reached  the 
corner  of  the  corral.  Half  a  minute's  brisk  spurt 
brought  us  to  the  scene. 

"  What's  the  trouble,  sentry  ?"  panted  the  sergeant. 

"  One  of  our  fellows  trying  to  take  a  horse.  I  was 
down  on  this  side  of  the  herd  when  I  seen  him  at  the 
other  end  trying  to  loose  a  side-line.  It  was  just  light 
enough  by  the  moon  to  let  me  see  the  figure,  but  I 
couldn't  make  out  who  'twas.  I  challenged  and  ran 
and  yelled  for  the  corporal,  too,  but  he  got  away 
through  the  horses  somehow.  Murphy,  who's  on  the 
other  side  of  the  herds,  seen  him  and  challenged  too." 

"Did  he  answer?" 

"Not  a  word,  sir." 

"Count  your  horses,  sergeant,  and  see  if  all  are 
here,"  was  ordered.  Then  we  hurried  over  to  Murphy's 
post. 

"  Who  was  the  man  ?  Could  you  make  him 
out?" 

"  Not  plainly,  sir ;  but  I  think  it  was  one  of  our  own 
command,"  and  poor  Murphy  hesitated  and  stam 
mered.  He  hated  to  "give  away,"  as  he  expressed  itT 
one  of  his  own  troop.  But  his  questioners  were  in 
exorable. 

"  What  man  did  this  one  most  look  like,  so  far  as 
you  could  judge?" 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  27 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hate  to  suspicion  anybody,  but  'twas 
more  like  Corporal  Potts  he  looked.  Sure,  if  'twas 
him,  he  must  ha7  been  drinkin',  for  the  corporal's  not 
the  man  to  try  and  run  off  a  horse  when  he's  in  his 
sober  sinses." 

The  waning  moon  gave  hardly  enough  light  for  ef 
fective  search,  but  we  did  our  best.  Blake  came  out 
and  joined  us,  looking  very  grave  when  he  heard  the 
news.  Eleven  o'clock  came,  and  we  gave  it  up.  Not 
a  sign  of  the  marauder  could  we  find.  Potts  was  still 
absent  from  the  bivouac  when  we  got  back,  but  Blake 
determined  to  make  no  further  effort  to  find  him. 
Long  before  midnight  we  were  all  soundly  sleeping, 
and  the  next  thing  I  knew  my  orderly  was  shaking  me 
by  the  arm  and  announcing  breakfast.  Reveille  was 
just  being  sounded  up  at  the  garrison.  The  sun  had 
not  yet  climbed  high  enough  to  peep  over  the  Matitzal, 
but  it  was  broad  daylight.  In  ten  minutes  Carroll 
and  I  were  enjoying  our  coffee  and  frijoles  ;  Blake  had 
ridden  up  into  the  garrison.  Potts  was  still  absent ; 
and  so,  as  we  expected,  was  Mr.  Gleason. 

Half  an  hour  more,  and  in  long  column  of  twos, 
and  followed  by  our  pack-train,  the  command  was  filing 
out  along  the  road  whereon  "  No.  3"  had  seen  the  am 
bulance  darting  by  in  the  darkness.  Blake  had  come 
back  from  the  post  with  a  flush  of  anger  on  his  face 
and  with  lips  compressed.  He  did  not  even  dismount. 
"  Saddle  up  at  once"  was  all  he  said  until  he  gave  the 
commands  to  mount  and  march.  Opposite  the  quarters 
of  the  commanding  officer  we  were  riding  at  ease,  and 
there  he  shook  his  gauntleted  fist  at  the  whitewashed 
walls,  and  had  recourse  to  his  usual  safety-valve, — 


28  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

"  '  Take  heed,  my  lords,  the  welfare  of  us  all 
Hangs  on  the  cutting  short  that  fraudful  man,' 

and  may  the  devil  fly  away  with  him !  What  d'ye 
think  he  told  me  when  I  went  to  hunt  him  up  9" 

There  was  no  suitable  conjecture. 

"  He  said  to  march  ahead,  leaving  his  horse,  Potts's, 
and  his  orderly's,  also  the  pack-mule :  he  would  follow 
at  his  leisure.  He  had  given  Potts  authority  to  wait 
and  go  with  him,  but  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to 
notify  me." 

"  Where  was  he  ?" 

"  Still  at  the  store,  playing  with  the  trader  and  some 
understrappers.  Didn't  seem  to  be  drunk,  either." 

And  that  was  the  last  we  heard  of  our  commander 
until  late  in  the  evening.  We  were  then  in  bivouac  on 
the  west  bank  of  the  Sandy  within  short  rifle-range  of 
the  buildings  of  Crocker's  Ranch  on  the  other  side. 
There  the  lights  burned  brightly,  and  some  of  our 
people  who  had  gone  across  had  been  courteously  re 
ceived,  despite  a  certain  constraint  and  nervousness  dis 
played  by  the  two  brothers.  At  "  Starlight,"  however, 
nearly  a  mile  away  from  us,  all  was  silence  and  dark 
ness.  We  had  studied  it  curiously  as  we  marched  up 
along  the  west  shore,  and  some  of  the  men  had  asked 
permission  to  fall  out  and  ride  over  there,  "just  to  see 
it,"  but  Blake  had  refused.  The  Sandy  was  easily 
fordable  on  horseback  anywhere,  and  the  Crockers,  for 
the  convenience  of  their  ranch  people,  had  placed  a  lot 
of  bowlders  and  heaps  of  stones  in  such  position  that 
they  served  as  a  foot-path  opposite  their  corrals.  But 
Blake  said  he  would  rather  none  of  his  people  intruded 
at  "  Starlight,"  and  so  it  happened  that  we  were  around 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  29 

the  fire  when  Gleason  rode  in  about  nine  o'clock,  and 
with  him  Lieutenant  Baker,  also  the  recreant  Potts. 

u  You  may  retain  command,  Mr.  Blake/'  said  the 
former,  thickly.  "  I  have  an  engagement  this  evening." 

In  an  instant  Baker  was  at  my  side.  We  had  not 
met  before  since  he  was  wearing  the  gray  at  the  Point. 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  let  him  follow  me, — but  you, 
— come  if  you  possibly  can.  I'll  slip  off  into  the 
willows  up-stream  as  soon  as  I  can  do  so  without  his 
seeing." 

I  signalled  Blake  to  join  us,  and  presently  he  saun 
tered  over  our  way,  Gleason  meantime  admonishing  his 
camp  cook  that  he  expected  to  have  the  very  best  hot 
supper  for  himself  and  his  friend,  Lieutenant  Baker, 
ready  in  twenty  minutes, — twenty  minutes,  for  they 
had  an  important  engagement,  an  affaire  de  coor,  by 
Jove! 

"  You  fellows  know  something  of  this  matter,"  said 
Baker,  hurriedly ;  "  but  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you  how 
troubled  I  am.  Something  is  wrong  with  her.  She 
has  not  met  me  once  this  week,  and  the  house  is  still  as 
a  grave.  I  must  see  her.  She  is  either  ill  or  im 
prisoned  by  her  people,  or  carried  away.  God  only 
knows  why  that  hound  Burnham  forbids  me  the  house. 
I  cannot  see  him.  I've  never  seen  his  wife.  The  door  is 
barred  against  me  and  I  cannot  force  an  entrance.  For 
a  while  she  was  able  to  slip  out  late  in  the  evening  and 
meet  me  down  the  hill-side,  but  they  must  have  detected 
her  in  some  way.  I  do  not  even  know  that  she  is  there, 
but  to-night  I  mean  to  know.  If  she  is  within  those 
walls — and  alive — she  will  answer  my  signal.  But 
for  heaven's  sake  keep  that  drunken  wretch  from  going 


30  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

over  there.  He's  bent  on  it.  The  major  gave  me 
leave  again  foi  to-night,  provided  I  would  see  Gleason 
safely  to  your  camp,  and  he  has  been  maundering  all 
the  way  out  about  how  he  knew  more'n  I  did, — he  and 
Potts,  who's  half-drunk  too, — and  how  he  meant  to  see 
me  through  in  this  matter." 

"  Well,  here,"  said  Blake,  "  there's  only  one  thing  to 
be  done.  You  two  slip  away  at  once ;  get  your  horses, 
and  ford  the  Sandy  well  below  camp.  I'll  try  and  keep 
him  occupied. 

In  three  minutes  we  were  off,  leading  our  steeds 
until  a  hundred  yards  or  so  away  from  the  fires,  then 
mounting  and  moving  at  rapid  walk.  Following 
Baker's  lead,  I  rode  along,  wondering  what  manner  of 
adventure  this  was  apt  to  be.  I  expected  him  to  make 
an  early  crossing  of  the  stream,  but  he  did  not.  "  The 
only  fords  I  know,"  said  he, "  are  down  below  Starlight," 
and  so  it  happened  that  we  made  a  wide  detour ;  but 
during  that  dark  ride  he  told  me  frankly  how  matters 
stood.  Zoe  Burnham  had  promised  to  be  his  wife,  and 
had  fully  returned  his  love,  but  she  was  deeply  attached 
to  her  poor  mother,  whose  health  was  utterly  broken, 
and  who  seemed  to  stand  in  dread  of  her  father.  The 
girl  could  not  bear  to  leave  her  mother,  though  he  had 
implored  her  to  do  so  and  be  married  at  once.  "  She 
told  me  the  last  time  I  saw  her  that  old  Burnham  had 
sworn  to  kill  me  if  he  caught  me  around  the  place,  so 
I  have  to  come  armed,  you  see ;"  and  he  exhibited  his 
heavy  revolver.  "  There's  something  shady  about  the 
old  man,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  is." 

At  last  we  crossed  the  stream,  and  soon  reached  a 
point  where  we  dismounted  and  fastened  our  horses 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  3] 

among  the  willows ;  then  slowly  and  cautiously  began 
the  ascent  to  the  ranch.  The  slope  here  was  long  and 
gradual,  and  before  we  had  gone  fifty  yards  Baker  laid 
his  hand  on  ray  arm. 

"  Wait.     Hush  !"  he  said. 

Listening,  we  could  distinctly  hear  the  crunching  of 
horses'  hoofs,  but  in  the  darkness  (for  the  old  moon  was 
not  yet  showing  over  the  range  to  the  east)  we  could 
distinguish  nothing.  One  thing  was  certain :  those 
hoofs  were  going  towards  the  ranch. 

"  Heavens  !"  said  Baker.  "  Do  you  suppose  that 
Gleason  has  got  the  start  of  us  after  all  ?  There's  no 
telling  what  mischief  he  may  do.  He  swore  he  would 
stand  inside  those  walls  to-night,  for  there  was  no 
Chinaman  on  earth  whom  he  could  not  bribe." 

We  pushed  ahead  at  the  run  now,  but  within  a 
minute  I  plunged  into  some  unseen  hollow ;  my  Mexi 
can  spurs  tangled,  and  down  I  went  heavily  upon  the 
ground.  The  shock  was  severe,  and  for  an  instant  I 
lay  there  half-stunned.  Baker  was  by  my  side  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  full  of  anxiety  and  sympathy.  I 
was  not  injured  in  the  slightest,  but  the  breath  was 
knocked  out  of  me,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  I 
could  forge  ahead  again.  We  reached  the  foot  of  the 
steep  slope;  we  clambered  painfully — at  least  I  did — 
to  the  crest,  and  there  stood  the  black  outline  of  Star 
light  Rancii,  with  only  a  glimmer  of  light  shining 
through  the  windows  here  and  there  where  the  shades 
did  not  completely  cover  the  space.  In  front  were  three 
horses  held  by  a  cavalry  trooper. 

u  Whose  horses  are  these  ?"  panted  Baker. 

"Lieutenant   Gleason's,   sir.      Him   and   Corpora] 


32  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

Potts  has  gone  round  behind  the  ranch  with  a  China 
man  they  found  takin'  in  water." 

And  then,  just  at  that  instant,  so  piercing,  so  agonized, 
so  fearful  that  even  the  three  horses  started  back  snort 
ing  and  terrified,  there  rang  out  on  the  still  night  air 
the  most  awful  shriek  I  ever  heard,  the  wail  of  a 
woman  in  horror  and  dismay.  Then  dull,  heavy 
blows ;  oaths,  curses,  stifled  exclamations ;  a  fall  that 
shook  the  windows;  Gleason's  voice  commanding, 
entreating ;  a  shrill  Chinese  jabber ;  a  rush  through 
the  hall ;  more  blows;  gasps;  curses;  more  unavailing 
orders  in  Gleason's  well-known  voice ;  then  a  sudden 
pistol  shot,  a  scream  of  "  Oh,  my  God  !"  then  moans, 
and  then  silence.  The  casement  on  the  second  floor  was 
thrown  open,  and  a  fair  young  face  and  form  were 
outlined  upon  the  bright  light  within  ;  a  girlish  voice 
called,  imploringly, — 

"  Harry  !  Harry  !  Oh,  help,  if  you  are  there  !  They 
are  killing  father  !" 

But  at  the  first  sound  Harry  Baker  had  sprung  from 
my  side  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

"  We  are  friends,"  I  shouted  to  her, — "  Harry 
Baker's  friends.  He  has  gone  round  to  the  rear 
entrance."  Then  I  made  a  dash  for  the  front  door, 
shaking,  kicking,  and  hammering  with  all  my  might. 
1  had  no  idea  how  to -find  the  rear  entrance  in  the  dark 
ness.  Presently  it  was  opened  by  the  still  chattering, 
jabbering  Chinaman,  his  face  pasty  with  terror  and 
excitement,  and  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes  was  one 
not  soon  to  be  forgotten. 

A  broad  hall  opened  straight  before  me,  with  a  stair 
way  leading  to  the  second  floor.  A  lamp  with  bur- 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  33 

nished  reflector  was  burning  brightly  midway  down 
its  length.  Another  just  like  it  fully  lighted  a  big 
room  to  my  left, — the  dining-room,  evidently, — on  the 
floor  of  which,  surrounded  by  overturned  chairs,  was 
lying  a  woman  in  a  deathlike  swoon.  Indeed,  I  thought 
at  first  she  was  dead.  In  the  room  to  my  right,  only 
dimly  lighted,  a  tall  man  in  shirt-sleeves  was  slowly 
crawling  to  a  sofa,  unsteadily  assisted  by  Gleason ;  and 
as  I  stepped  inside,  Corporal  Potts,  who  was  leaning 
against  the  wall  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  pressing 
his  hand  to  his  side  and  with  ashen  face,  sank  sud 
denly  to  the  floor,  doubled  up  in  a  pool  of  his  own 
blood.  In  the  dining-room,  in  the  hall,  everywhere 
that  I  could  see,  were  the  marks  of  a  fearful  struggle. 
The  man  on  the  sofa  gasped  faintly,  "  Water,"  and  I 
ran  into  the  dining-room  and  hastened  back  with  a 
brimming  goblet. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?"  I  demanded  of  Gleason. 

Big  drops  of  sweat  were  pouring  down  his  pallid 
face.  The  fearful  scene  had  entirely  sobered  him. 

"  Potts  has  found  the  man  who  robbed  him  of  his 
wife.  That's  she  on  the  floor  yonder.  Go  and  help 
her." 

But  she  was  already  coming  to  and  beginning  to 
stare  wildly  about  her.  A  glass  of  water  helped  to 
revive  hnr.  She  staggered  across  the  hall,  and  then, 
with  a  moan  of  misery  and  horror  at  the  sight,  threw 
herself  upon  her  knees,  not  beside  the  sofa  where 
Bumham  lay  gasping,  but  on  the  floor  where  ]ay  our 
poor  old  corporal.  In  an  instant  she  had  his  head  in 
her  lap  and  was  crooning  over  the  senseless  clay,  sway 
ing  her  body  to  and  fro  as  she  piteously  called  to  him, — • 


34  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

"  Frank,  Frank !  Oh,  for  the  love  of  Jesus,  speak 
to  me !  Frank,  dear  Frank,  my  husband,  my  own  ! 
Oh,  for  God's  sake,  open  your  eyes  and  look  at  me  !  I 
wasn't  as  wicked  as  they  made  me  out,  Frank,  God 
knows  I  wasn't.  I  tried  to  get  back  to  you,  but  Pierce 
there  swore  you  were  dead, — swore  you  were  killed  at 
Cienoguilla.  Oh,  Frank,  Frank,  open  your  eyes  !  Do 
hear  me,  husband.  O  God,  don't  let  him  die  !  Oh, 
for  pity's  sake,  gentlemen,  can't  you  do  something? 
Can't  you  bring  him  to?  He  must  hear  me!  He 
must  know  how  I've  been  lied  to  all  these  years !" 

"  Quick  !  Take  this  and  see  if  you  can  bring  him 
round,"  said  Gleason,  tossing  me  his  flask.  I  knelt  and 
poured  the  burning  spirit  into  his  open  mouth.  There 
were  a  few  gurgles,  half-conscious  efforts  to  swallow, 
and  then — success.  He  opened  his  glazing  eyes  and 
looked  up  into  the  face  of  his  wife.  His  lips  moved 
and  he  called  her  by  name.  She  raised  him  higher  in 
her  arms,  pillowing  his  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  cov 
ered  his  face  with  frantic  kisses.  The  sight  seemed  too 
much  for  "  Burnham."  His  face  worked  and  twisted 
with  rage ;  he  ground  out  curses  and  blasphemy  between 
his  clinched  teeth  ;  he  even  strove  to  rise  from  the  sofa, 
but  Gleason  forced  him  back.  Meantime,  the  poor 
woman's  wild  remorse  and  lamentations  were  poured 
into  the  ears  of  the  dying  man. 

"  Tell  me  you  believe  me,  Frank.  Tell  me  you  for 
give  me.  O  God !  you  don't  know  what  my  life  has 
been  with  him.  When  I  found  out  that  it  was  all  a  lie 
about  your  being  killed  at  Cieneguilla,  he  beat  me  like 
a  slave.  He  had  to  go  and  fight  in  the  war.  They 
made  him  ;  they  conscripted  him ;  and  when  he  got 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  35 

back  he  brought  me  papers  to  show  you  were  killed  in 
one  of  the  Virginia  battles.  I  gave  up  hope  then  for 
good  and  all." 

Just  then  who  should  come  springing  down  the  stairs 
but  Baker,  who  had  evidently  been  calming  and 
soothing  his  lady-love  aloft.  He  stepped  quickly  into 
the  parlor. 

"  Have  you  sent  for  a  surgeon  ?"  he  asked. 

The  sound  of  his  voice  seemed  to  rouse  "  Burnham" 
to  renewed  life  and  raging  hate. 

"Surgeons  be  damned!"  he  gasped.  "I'm  past  all 
surgery ;  but  thank  God  I've  given  that  ruffian  what'll 
send  him  to  hell  before  I  get  there  !  And  you — you" 
— and  here  he  made  a  frantic  grab  for  the  revolver  that 
lay  upon  the  floor,  but  Gleason  kicked  it  away — "  you, 
young  hound,  I  meant  to  have  wound  you  up  before 
I  got  through.  But  I  can  jeer  at  you — God-forsaken 
idiot — I  can  triumph  over  you ;"  and  he  stretched  forth 
a  quivering,  menacing  arm  and  hand.  "You  would 
have  your  way — damn  you  ! — so  take  it.  YouVe  given 
your  love  to  a  bastard, — that's  what  Zoe  is." 

Baker  stood  like  one  turned  suddenly  into  stone. 
But  from  the  other  end  of  the  room  came  prompt, 
wrathful,  and  with  the  ring  of  truth  in  her  earnest  pro 
test,  the  mother's  loud  defence  of  her  child. 

"  It's  a  lie, — a  fiendish  and  malignant  lie, — and  he 
knows  it.  Here  lies  her  father,  my  own  husband, 
murdered  by  that  scoundrel  there.  Her  baptismal 
certificate  is  in  my  room.  I've  kept  it  all  these  yean? 
where  he  never  could  get  it.  No,  Frank,  she's  your 
own,  your  own  baby,  whom  you  never  saw.  Go — go 
and  bring  her.  He  must  see  his  baby-girl.  Oh,  my 


36  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

darling,  don't — don't  go  until  you  see  her."  And 
again  she  covered  the  ashen  face  with  her  kisses.  I 
knelt  and  put  the  flask  to  his  lips  and  he  eagerly  swal 
lowed  a  few  drops.  Baker  had  turned  and  darted  up 
stairs.  "  Burnharn's"  late  effort  had  proved  too  much 
for  him.  He  had  fainted  away,  and  the  blood  was 
welling  afresh  from  several  wounds. 

A  moment  more  and  Baker  reappeared,  leading  his 
betrothed.  With  her  long,  golden  hair  rippling  down 
her  back,  her  face  white  as  death,  and  her  eyes  wild 
with  dread,  she  was  yet  one  of  the  loveliest  pictures  I 
ever  dreamed  of.  Obedient  to  her  mother's  signal,  she 
knelt  close  beside  them,  saying  no  word. 

"Zoe,  darling,  this  is  your  own  father;  the  one  I 
told  you  of  last  winter." 

Old  Potts  seemed  struggling  to  rise ;  an  inexpressi 
ble  tenderness  shone  over  his  rugged,  bearded  face; 
his  eyes  fastened  themselves  on  the  lovely  girl  before 
him  with  a  look  almost  as  of  wonderment;  his  lips 
seemed  striving  to  whisper  her  name.  His  wife  raised 
him  still  higher,  and  Baker  reverently  knelt  and  sup 
ported  the  shoulder  of  the  dying  man.  There  was  the 
silence  of  the  grave  in  the  dimly-lighted  room.  Slowly, 
tremulously  the  arm  in  the  old  blue  blouse  was  raised 
and  extended  towards  the  kneeling  girl.  Lowly  she 
bent,  clasping  her  hands  and  with  the  tears  now  welling 
from  her  eyes.  One  moment  more  and  the  withered 
old  hand  that  for  quarter  of  a  century  had  grasped  the 
sabre-hilt  in  the  service  of  our  common  country  slowly 
fell  until  it  rested  on  that  beautiful,  golden  head, — one 
little  second  or  two,  in  which  the  lips  seemed  to  murmur 
a  prayer  and  the  fast  glazing  eyes  were  fixed  in  infinite 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  37 

tenderness  upon  his  only  child.  Then  suddenly  they 
sought  the  face  of  his  sobbing  wife, — a  quick,  faint 
smile,  a  sigh,  and  the  hand  dropped  to  the  floor.  The 
old  trooper's  life  had  gone  out  in  benediction. 
******* 
Of  course  there  was  trouble  all  around  before  that 
wretched  affair  was  explained.  Gleason  came  within 
an  ace  of  court-martial,  but  escaped  it  by  saying  that 
he  knew  of  "  Burnham V  threats  against  the  life  of 
Lieutenant  Baker,  and  that  he  went  to  the  ranch  in 
search  of  the  latter  and  to  get  him  out  of  danger. 
They  met  the  Chinaman  outside  drawing  water,  and 
he  ushered  them  in  the  back  way  because  it  was  the 
nearest.  Potts  asked  to  go  with  him  that  he  might 
see  if  this  was  his  long-lost  wife, — so  said  Gleason, — 
and  the  instant  she  caught  sight  of  him  she  shrieked 
and  fainted,  and  the  two  men  sprang  at  each  other  like 
tigers.  Knives  were  drawn  in  a  minute.  Then  Burn- 
ham  fled  through  the  hall,  snatched  a  revolver  from  its 
rack,  and  fired  the  fatal  shot.  The  surgeon  from  Fort 
Phoenix  reached  them  early  the  next  morning,  a  mes 
senger  having  been  despatched  from  Crocker's  ranch 
before  eleven  at  night,  but  all  his  skill  could  not  save 
"  Burnham,"  now  known  to  be  Pierce,  the  ex-sutler 
clerk  of  the  early  Fifties.  He  had  prospered  and 
made  money  ever  since  the  close  of  the  war,  and  Zoe 
had  been  thoroughly  well  educated  in  the  East  before 
the  poor  child  was  summoned  to  share  her  mother's 
exile.  His  mania  seemed  to  be  to  avoid  all  possibility 
of  contact  with  the  troops,  but  the  Crockers  had  given 
such  glowing  accounts  of  the  land  near  Fort  Phoenix, 
and  they  were  so  positively  assured  that  there  need  be 

4 


38  STARLIGHT  RANCH. 

no  intercourse  whatever  with  that  post,  that  he  deter 
mined  to  risk  it.  But,  go  where  he  would,  his  sin  had 
found  him  out. 

The  long  hot  summer  followed,  but  it  often  happened 
that  before  many  weeks  there  were  interchanges  of 
visits  between  the  fort  and  the  ranch.  The  ladies  in 
sisted  that  the  widow  should  come  thither  for  change 
and  cheer,  and  Zoe's  appearance  at  Phoenix  was  the 
sensation  of  the  year.  Baker  was  in  the  seventh 
heaven.  "Burnham,"  it  was  found,  had  a  certain 
sense  of  justice,  for  his  will  had  been  made  long  be 
fore,  and  everything  he  possessed  was  left  unreservedly 
to  the  woman  whom  he  had  betrayed  and,  in  his  tiger 
ish  way,  doubtless  loved,  for  he  had  married  her  in  '65, 
the  instant  he  succeeded  in  convincing  her  that  Potts 
was  really  dead. 

So  far  from  combating  the  will,  both  the  Crockers 
were  cordial  in  their  support.  Indeed,  it  was  the 
elder  brother  who  told  the  widow  of  its  existence. 
They  had  known  her  and  her  story  many  a  year,  and 
were  ready  to  devote  themselves  to  her  service  now. 
The  junior  moved  up  to  the  "Burnham"  place  to 
take  general  charge  and  look  after  matters,  for  the 
property  was  every  day  increasing  in  value.  And  so 
matters  went  until  the  fall,  and  then,  one  lovely  even 
ing,  in  the  little  wooden  chapel  at  the  old  fort,  there 
was  a  gathering  such  as  its  walls  had  never  known  be 
fore;  and  the  loveliest  bride  that  Arizona  ever  saw, 
blushing,  smiling,  and  radiantly  happy,  received  the 
congratulations  of  the  entire  garrison  and  of  delega 
tions  from  almost  every  post  in  the  department. 

A  few  years  ago,  to  the  sorrow  of  everybody  in  the 


STARLIGHT  RANCH.  39 

regiment,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harry  Baker  bade  it  good-by 
forever.  The  fond  old  mother  who  had  so  long  watched 
over  the  growing  property  for  u  her  children,"  as  she 
called  them,  had  no  longer  the  strength  the  duties  re 
quired.  Crocker  had  taken  unto  himself  a  helpmate 
and  was  needed  at  his  own  place,  and  our  gallant  and 
genial  comrade  with  his  sweet  wife  left  us  only  when 
it  became  evident  to  all  at  Phoenix  that  a  new  master 
needed  at  Starlight  Ranch. 


WELL  WON; 

OR, 

FROM  THE   PLAINS  TO  "THE  POINT." 


CHAPTER    I. 

RALPH    MCCREA. 

THE  sun  was  going  down,  and  a  little  girl  with  big, 
dark  eyes  who  was  sitting  in  the  waiting-room  of  the 
railway  station  was  beginning  to  look  very  tired.  Ever 
since  the  train  came  in  at  one  o'clock  she  had  been 
perched  there  between  the  iron  arms  of  the  seat,  and 
now  it  was  after  six  o'clock  of  the  long  June  day,  and 
high  time  that  some  one  came  for  her. 

A  bonny  little  mite  she  was,  with  a  wealth  of  brown 
hair  tumbling  down  her  shoulders  and  overhanging 
her  heavy  eyebrows.  She  was  prettily  dressed,  and 
her  tiny  feet,  cased  in  stout  little  buttoned  boots,  stuck 
straight  out  before  her  most  of  the  time,  as  she  sat  well 
back  on  the  broad  bench. 

She  was  a  silent  little  body,  and  for  over  two  hours 
had  hardly  opened  her  lips  to  any  one, — even  to  the 
doll  that  now  lay  neglected  on  the  seat  beside  her. 
Earlier  in  the  afternoon  she  had  been  much  engrossed 
with  that  blue-eyed,  flaxen-haired,  and  overdressed 
beauty ;  but,  little  by  little,  her  interest  flagged,  and 
40 


FROM   THE  PLAINS  TO   "  THE  POINT."         41 

when  a  six-year-old  girlie  loses  interest  in  a  brand-new 
doll  something  serious  must  be  the  matter. 

Something  decidedly  serious  was  the  matter  now. 
The  train  that  came  up  from  Denver  had  brought  this 
little  maiden  and  her  father, — a  handsome,  sturdy- 
looking  ranchman  of  about  thirt}r  years  of  age, — and 
they  had  been  welcomed  with  jubilant  cordiality  by 
two  or  three  stalwart  men  in  broad-brimmed  slouch 
hats  and  frontier  garb.  They  had  picked  her  up  in 
their  brawny  arms  and  carried  her  to  the  waiting-room, 
and  seated  her  there  in  state  and  fed  her  with  fruit 
and  dainties,  and  made  much  of  her.  Then  her  father 
had  come  in  and  placed  in  her  arms  this  wonderful 
new  doll,  and  while  she  was  still  hugging  it  in  her 
delight,  he  laid  a  heavy  satchel  on  the  seat  beside  her 
and  said, — 

"  And  now,  baby,  papa  has  to  go  up-town  a  ways. 
He  has  lots  of  things  to  get  to  take  home  with  us,  and 
some  new  horses  to  try.  He  may  be  gone  a  whole 
hour,  but  will  you  stay  right  here — you  and  dolly — 
and  take  good  care  of  the  satchel  ?" 

She  looked  up  a  little  wistfully.  She  did  not  quite 
like  to  be  left  behind,  but  she  felt  sure  papa  could  not 
well  take  her, — he  was  always  so  loving  and  kind, — 
and  then,  there  was  dolly ;  and  there  were  other  chil 
dren  with  their  mothers  in  the  room.  So  she  nodded, 
and  put  up  her  little  face  for  his  kiss.  He  took  her  in 
his  arms  a  minute  and  hugged  her  tight. 

"  That's  my  own  little  Jessie !"  he  said.  "  She's  as 
brave  as  her  mother  was,  fellows,  and  it's  saying  a 
heap." 

With  that  he  set  her  down  upon  the  bench,  and  they 
4* 


42  WELL    WON;   OR, 

put  dolly  in  her  arms  again  and  a  package  of  apples 
within  her  reach;  and  then  the  jolly  party  started 
off. 

They  waved  their  hands  to  her  through  the  window 
and  she  smiled  shyly  at  them,  and  one  of  them  called 
to  a  baggage-man  and  told  him  to  have  an  eye  on  little 
Jessie  in  there.  u  She  is  Farron's  kid." 

For  a  while  matters  did  not  go  so  very  badly.  Other 
children,  who  came  to  look  at  that  marvellous  doll  and 
to  make  timid  advances,  kept  her  interested.  But 
presently  the  east-bound  train  was  signalled  and  they 
were  all  whisked  away. 

Then  came  a  space  of  over  an  hour,  during  which 
little  Jessie  sat  there  all  alone  in  the  big,  bare  room, 
playing  contentedly  with  her  new  toy  and  chattering  in 
low-toned,  murmurous  "  baby  talk"  to  her,  and  point 
ing  out  the  wonderful  sunbeams  that  came  slanting  in 
through  the  dust  of  the  western  windows.  She  had 
had  plenty  to  eat  and  a  big  glass  of  milk  before  papa 
went  away,  and  was  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty ;  but 
all  the  same,  it  seemed  as  if  that  hour  were  getting 
very,  very  long ;  and  every  time  the  tramp  of  footsteps 
was  heard  on  the  platform  outside  she  looked  up 
eagerly. 

Then  other  people  began  to  come  in  to  wait  for  a 
train,  and  whenever  the  door  opened,  the  big,  dark 
eyes  glanced  quickly  up  with  such  a  hopeful,  wistful 
gaze,  and  as  each  new-comer  proved  to  be  a  total 
stranger  the  little  maiden's  disappointment  was  so 
evident  that  some  kind-hearted  women  came  over  to 
speak  to  her  and  see  if  all  was  right. 

But  she  was.  as  shy  as  she  was  lonely,  poor  little 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT."         43 

mite,  and  hung  her  head  and  hugged  her  doll,  and 
shrank  away  when  they  tried  to  take  her  in  their  arms. 
All  they  could  get  her  to  say  was  that  she  was  waiting 
for  papa  and  that  her  name  was  Jessie  Farron. 

At  last  their  train  came  and  they  had  to  go,  and  a 
new  set  appeared  ;  and  there  were  people  to  meet  and 
welcome  them  with  joyous  greetings  and  much  homely, 
homelike  chatter,  and  everybody  but  one  little  girl 
seemed  to  have  friends.  It  all  made  Jessie  feel  more 
and  more  lonely,  and  to  wonder  what  could  have  hap 
pened  to  keep  papa  so  very  long. 

Still  she  was  so  loyal,  so  sturdy  a  little  sentinel  at  her 
post.  The  kind-hearted  baggage-man  came  in  and 
strove  to  get  her  to  go  with  him  to  his  cottage  "  a  ways 
up  the  road,"  where  his  wife  and  little  ones  were  waiting 
tea  for  him ;  but  she  shook  her  head  and  shrank  back 
even  from  him. 

Papa  had  told  her  to  stay  there  and  she  would  not 
budge.  Papa  had  placed  his  satchel  in  her  charge, 
and  so  she  kept  guard  over  it  and  watched  every  one 
who  approached. 

The  sun  was  getting  low  and  shining  broadly  in 
through  those  western  windows  and  making  a  glare 
that  hurt  her  eyes,  and  she  longed  to  change  her  seat. 
Between  the  sun  glare  and  the  loneliness  her  eyes 
began  to  fill  with  big  tears,  and  when  once  they  came  it 
was  so  hard  to  force  them  back ;  so  it  happened  that 
poor  little  Jessie  found  herself  crying  despite  all  her 
determination  to  be  "  papa's  own  brave  daughter." 

The  windows  behind  her  opened  out  to  the  north, 
and  by  turning  around  she  could  see  a  wide,  level  space 
between  the  platform  and  the  hotel,  where  wagons  and 


44  WELL    WON;   OR, 

an  omnibus  or  two,  and  a  four-mule  ambulance  had 
been  coming  and  going. 

Again  and  again  her  eyes  had  wandered  towards 
this  space  in  hopeful  search  for  father's  coming,  only 
to  meet  with  disappointment.  At  last,  just  as  she  had 
turned  and  was  kneeling  on  the  seat  and  gazing  through 
the  tears  that  trickled  down  her  pretty  face,  she  saw  a 
sight  that  made  her  sore  little  heart  bound  high  with 
hope. 

First  there  trotted  into  the  enclosure  a  span  of  hand 
some  bay  horses  with  a  low  phaeton  in  which  were 
seated  two  ladies ;  and  directly  after  them,  at  full 
gallop,  came  two  riders  on  spirited,  mettlesome  sor 
rels. 

Little  Jessie  knew  the  horsemen  at  a  glance.  One 
was  a  tall,  bronzed,  dark-moustached  trooper  in  the 
fatigue  uniform  of  a  cavalry  sergeant ;  the  other  was  a 
blue-eyed,  faired-haired  young  fellow  of  sixteen  years, 
who  raised  his  cap  and  bowed  to  the  ladies  in  the  car 
riage,  as  he  reined  his  horse  up  close  to  the  station 
platform. 

He  was  just  about  to  speak  to  them  when  he  heard 
a  childish  voice  calling,  "  Ralph  !  Ralph  I"  and,  turn 
ing  quickly  around,  he  caught  sight  of  a  little  girl 
stretching  out  her  arms  to  him  through  the  window, 
and  crying  as  if  her  baby  heart  would  break. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  me  to  write  five  words  he 
sprang  from  his  horse,  bounded  up  the  platform  into 
the  waiting-room,  and  gathered  the  child  to  his  heart, 
anxiously  bidding  her  tell  him  what  was  the  trouble. 

For  a  few  minutes  she  could  only  sob  in  her  relief 
and  joy  at  seeing  him,  and  snuggle  close  to  his  face. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO   "THE  POINT."         45 

The  ladies  wondered  to  see  Ralph  McCrea  coming  to 
wards  them  with  a  strange  child  in  his  arms,  but  they 
were  all  sympathy  and  loving-kindness  in  a  moment, 
so  attractive  was  her  sweet  face. 

"  Mrs.  Henry,  this  is  Jessie  Farron.  You  know  her 
father ;  he  owns  a  ranch  up  on  the  Chugwater,  right 
near  the  Laramie  road.  The  station-master  says  she 
has  been  here  all  alone  since  he  went  off  at  one  o'clock 
with  some  friends  to  buy  things  for  the  ranch  and  try 
some  horses.  It  must  have  been  his  party  Sergeant 
Wells  and  I  saw  way  out  by  the  fort." 

He  paused  a  moment  to  address  a  cheering  word  to 
the  little  girl  in  his  arms,  and  then  went  on  :  "  Their 
team  had  run  away  over  the  prairie — a  man  told  us — 
and  they  were  leading  them  in  to  the  quartermaster's 
corral  as  we  rode  from  the  stables.  I  did  not  recognize 
Farron  at  the  distance,  but  Sergeant  Wells  will  gallop 
out  and  tell  him  Jessie  is  all  right.  Would  you  mind 
taking  care  of  her  a  few  minutes  ?  Poor  little  girl !" 
he  added,  in  lower  and  almost  beseeching  tones,  "  she 
hasn't  any  mother." 

"  Would  I  mind !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Henry,  warmly. 
"  Give  her  to  me,  Ralph.  Come  right  here,  little 
daughter,  and  tell  me  all  about  it,"  and  the  loving 
woman  stood  up  in  the  carriage  and  held  forth  her 
arms,  to  which  little  Jessie  was  glad  enough  to  be  taken, 
and  there  she  sobbed,  and  was  soothed  and  petted  and 
kissed  as  she  had  not  been  since  her  mother  died. 

Ralph  and  the  station-master  brought  to  the  carriage 
the  wonderful  doll — at  sight  of  whose  toilet  Mrs.  Henry 
could  not  repress  a  significant  glance  at  her  lady  friend, 
and  a  suggestive  exclamation  of  "  Horrors !" — and  the 


46  WELL    WON;   OR, 

heavy  satchel.  These  were  placed  where  Jessie  could 
see  them  and  feel  that  they  were  safe,  and  then  she  was 
able  to  answer  a  few  questions  and  to  look  up  trustfully 
into  the  gentle  face  that  was  nestled  every  little  while 
to  hers,  and  to  sip  the  cup  of  milk  that  Ralph  fetched 
from  the  hotel.  She  had  certainly  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  persons  who  had  very  loving  hearts. 

"  Poor  little  thing !  What  a  shame  to  leave  her  all 
alone !  How  long  has  her  mother  been  dead,  Ralph  ?" 
asked  the  other  lady,  rather  indignantly. 

"About  two  years,  Mrs.  Wayne.  Father  and  his 
officers  knew  them  very  well.  Our  troop  was  camped 
up  there  two  whole  summers  near  them, — last  summer 
and  the  one  before, — but  Farron  took  her  to  Denver  to 
visit  her  mother's  people  last  April,  and  has  just  gone 
for  her.  Sergeant  Wells  said  he  stopped  at  the  ranch 
on  the  way  down  from  Laramie,  and  Farron  told  him, 
then,  he  couldn't  live  another  month  without  his  little 
girl,  and  was  going  to  Denver  for  her  at  once." 

"  I  remember  them  ;vvell,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Henry, 
"and  we  saw  him  sometimes  when  our  troop  was  at 
Laramie.  What  was  the  last  news  from  your  father, 
Ralph,  and  when  do  you  go?" 

"  No  news  since  the  letter  that  met  me  here.  You 
know  he  has  been  scouting  ever  since  General  Crook 
went  on  up  to  the  Powder  River  country.  Our  troop 
and  the  Grays  are  all  that  are  left  to  guard  that  whole 
neighborhood,  and  the  Indians  seem  to  know  it.  They 
are  '  jumping'  from  the  reservation  all  the  time." 

"  But  the  Fifth  Cavalry  are  here  now,  and  they  will 
soon  be  up  there  to  help  you,  and  put  a  stop  to  all 
that,— won't  they?" 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO   "  THE  POINT."         47 

"I  don't  know.  The  Fifth  say  that  they  expect 
orders  to  go  to  the  Black  Hills,  so  as  to  get  between  the 
reservations  and  Sitting  Bull's  people.  Only  six  troops 
— half  the  regiment — -have  come.  Papa's  letter  said  I 
was  to  start  for  Laramie  with  them,  but  they  have  been 
kept  waiting  four  days  already." 

"They  will  start  now,  though,"  said  the  lady. 
"  General  Merritt  has  just  got  back  from  Red  Cloud, 
where  he  went  to  look  into  the  situation,  and  he  has 
been  in  the  telegraph  office  much  of  the  afternoon 
wiring  to  Chicago,  where  General  Sheridan  is.  Colonel 
Mason  told  us,  as  we  drove  past  camp,  that  they  would 
probably  march  at  daybreak." 

"  That  means  that  Sergeant  Wells  and  I  go  at  the 
same  time,  then,"  said  Ralph,  with  glistening  eyes. 
"Doesn't  it  seem  odd,  after  I've  been  galloping  all 
over  this  country  from  here  to  the  Chug  for  the  last 
three  years,  that  now  father  won't  let  me  go  it  alone. 
I  never  yet  set  eyes  on  a  war  party  of  Indians,  or 
heard  of  one  south  of  the  Platte." 

"  All  the  same  they  came,  Ralph,  and  it  was  simply 
to  protect  those  settlers  that  your  father's  company  was 
there  so  much.  This  year  they  are  worse  than  ever, 
and  there  has  been  no  cavalry  to  spare.  If  you  were 
my  boy,  I  should  be  worried  half  to  death  at  the  idea 
of  your  riding  alone  from  here  to  Laramie.  What  does 
your  mother  think  of  it  ?" 

"  It  was  mother,  probably,  who  made  father  issue  the 
order.  She  writes  that,  eager  as  she  is  to  see  me,  she 
wouldn't  think  of  letting  me  come  alone  with  Sergeant 
Wells.  Pshaw !  He  and  I  would  be  safer  than  the 
old  stage-coach  any  day.  That  is  never  '  jumped'  south 


48  WELL    WON;   OR, 

of  Laramie,  though  it  is  chased  now  and  then  above 
there.  Of  course  the  country's  full  of  Indians  between 
the  Platte  and  the  BJack  Hills,  but  we  shouldn't  be 
likely  to  come  across  any." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Nestled  in  Mrs. 
Henry's  arms  the  weary  little  girl  was  dropping  off 
into  placid  slumber,  and  forgetting  all  her  troubles. 
Both  the  ladies  were  wives  of  officers  of  the  army,  and 
were  living  at  Fort  Russell,  three  miles  out  from  Chey 
enne,  while  their  husbands  were  far  to  the  north  with 
their  companies  on  the  Indian  campaign,  which  was 
just  then  opening. 

It  was  an  anxious  time.  Since  February  all  of  the 
cavalry  and  much  of  the  infantry  stationed  in  Ne 
braska  and  Wyoming  had  been  out  in  the  wild  country 
above  the  North  Platte  River,  between  the  Big  Horn 
Mountains  and  the  Black  Hills.  For  two  years  pre 
vious  great  numbers  of  the  young  warriors  had  been 
slipping  away  from  the  Sioux  reservations  and  joining 
the  forces  of  such  vicious  and  intractable  chiefs  as 
Sitting  Bull,  Gall,  and  Rain-in-the-face,  it  could 
scarcely  be  doubted,  with  hostile  intent. 

Several  thousands  of  the  Indians  were  known  to  be 
at  large,  and  committing  depredations  and  murders  in 
every  direction  among  the  settlers.  Now,  all  pacific 
means  having  failed,  the  matter  had  been  turned  over 
to  General  Crook,  who  had  recently  brought  the  savage 
Apaches  of  Arizona  under  subjection,  to  employ  such 
means  as  he  found  necessary  to  defeat  their  designs. 

General  Crook  found  the  Sioux  an/1  their  allies 
armed  with  the  best  modern  breech-loaders,  well  sup 
plied  with  ammunition  and  countless  herds  of  war 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT."         49 

ponies,  and  far  too  numerous  and  powerful  to  be 
handled  by  the  small  force  at  his  command. 

One  or  two  sharp  and  savage  fights  occurred  in 
March,  while  the  mercury  was  still  thirty  degrees 
below  zero,  and  then  the  government  decided  on  a 
great  summer  campaign.  Generals  Terry  and  Gibbon 
were  to  hem  the  Indians  from  the  north  along  the 
Yellowstone,  while  at  the  same  time  General  Crook 
was  to  march  up  and  attack  them  from  the  south. 

When  June  came,  four  regiments  of  cavalry  and 
half  a  dozen  infantry  regiments  were  represented 
among  the  forces  that  scouted  to  and  fro  in  the  wild 
and  beautiful  uplands  of  Wyoming,  Dakota,  and  East 
ern  Montana,  searching  for  the  Sioux. 

The  families  of  the  officers  and  soldiers  remained  at 
the  barracks  from  which  the  men  were  sent,  and  even 
at  the  exposed  stations  of  Forts  Laramie,  Robinson, 
and  Fetterman,  many  ladies,  and  children  remained 
under  the  protection  of  small  garrisons  of  infantry. 
Among  the  ladies  at  Laramie  was  Mrs.  McCrea, 
Ralph's  mother,  who  waited  for  the  return  of  her  boy 
from  a  long  absence  at  school. 

A  manly,  sturdy  fellow  was  Ralph,  full  of  health 
and  vigor,  due  in  great  part  to  the  open-air  life  he 
had  led  in  his  early  boyhood.  He  had  "  backed"  an 
Indian  pony  before  he  was  seven,  and  could  sit  one 
like  a  Comanche  by  the  time  he  was  ten.  He  had  ac 
companied  his  father  on  many  a  long  march  and  scout, 
and  had  ridden  every  mile  of  the  way  from  the  Gila 
River  in  Arizona,  across  New  Mexico,  and  so  on  uo 
into  Nebraska. 

He  had  caught  brook  trout  in  the  Cache  la  Poudre, 
o  d  5 


50  WELL    WON;   OR, 

and  shot  antelope  along  the  Loup  Fork  of  the  Platte. 
With  his  father  and  his  father's  men  to  watch  and 
keep  him  from  harm,  he  had  even  charged  his  first 
buffalo  herd  and  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  shoot  a 
bull.  The  skin  had  been  made  into  a  robe,  which  he 
carefully  kept. 

Now,  all  eager  to  spend  his  vacation  among  his 
favorite  haunts, — in  the  saddle  and  among  the  moun 
tain  streams, — Ralph  McCrea  was  going  back  to  his 
army  home,  when,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  great 
Sioux  war  broke  out  in  the  early  summer  of  our  Cen 
tennial  Year,  and  promised  to  greatly  interfere  with, 
if  it  did  not  wholly  spoil,  many  of  his  cherished  plans. 

Fort  Laramie  lay  about  one  hundred  miles  north  of" 
Cheyenne,  and  Sergeant  Wells  had  corne  down  with 
the  paymaster's  escort  a  few  days  before,  bringing 
Ralph's  pet,  his  beautiful  little  Kentucky  sorrel  "  Bu- 
ford,"  and  now  the  boy  and  his  faithful  friend,  the 
sergeant,  were  visiting  at  Fort  Russell,  and  waiting  for 
a  safe  opportunity  to  start  for  home. 

Presently,  as  they  chatted  in  low  tones  so  as  not  to 
disturb  the  little  sleeper,  there  came  the  sound  of  rapid 
hoof-beats,  and  Sergeant  Wells  cantered  into  the  en 
closure  and,  riding  up  to  the  carriage,  said  to  Ralph, — 

"  I  found  him,  sir,  all  safe  ;  but  their  wagon  was 
being  patched  up,  and  he  could  not  leave.  He  is  so 
thankful  to  Mrs.  Henry  for  her  kindness,  and  begs  to 
know  if  she  would  mind  bringing  Jessie  out  to  the 
fort.  The  men  are  trying  very  hard  to  persuade  him 
not  to  start  for  the  Chug  in  the  morning." 

"  Why  not,  sergeant  ?" 

"  Because  the  telegraph  despatches  from  Laramie  say 


SROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  «  THE  POINT."         51 

there  must  be  a  thousand  Indians  gone  out  from  the 
reservation  in  the  last  two  days.  They've  cut  the 
wires  up  to  Bed  Cloud,  and  no  more  news  can  reach 
us." 

Ralph's  face  grew  very  pale. 

"Father  is  right  in  the  midst  of  them,  with  only 
fifty  men  I" 


CHAPTER    II. 

CAVALRY   ON   THE   MARCH. 

IT  was  a  lovely  June  morning  when  the  Fifth  Cav 
alry  started  on  its  march.  Camp  was  struck  at  day 
break,  and  soon  after  five  o'clock,  while  the  sun  was 
still  low  in  the  east  and  the  dew-drops  were  sparkling 
on  the  buffalo  grass,  the  long  column  was  winding  up 
the  bare,  rolling  "  divide"  which  lay  between  the  val 
leys  of  Crow  and  Lodge  Pole  Creeks.  In  plain  view, 
only  thirty  miles  away  to  the  west,  were  the  summits 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  but  such  is  the  altitude  of 
this  upland  prairie,  sloping  away  eastward  between 
the  two  forks  of  the  Platte  River,  that  these  summits 
appear  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  low  range  of  hill? 
shutting  off  the  western  horizon. 

Looking  southward  from  the  Laramie  road,  all  the 
year  round  one  can  see  the  great  peaks  of  the  range — 
Long's  and  Hahn's  and  Pike's — glistening  in  their 
mantles  of  snow,  and  down  there  near  them,  in  Colo 
rado,  the  mountains  slope  abruptly  into  the  Valley  of 
the  Sou' '•  Platte. 


52  WELL    WON;   OR, 

Up  here  in  Wyoming  the  Rockies  go  rolling  and 
billowing  far  out  to  the  east,  and  the  entire  stretch  of 
country,  from  what  are  called  the  "Black  Hills  of 
Wyoming,"  in  contradistinction  to  the  Black  Hills  of 
Dakota,  far  east  as  the  junction  of  the  forks  of  the 
Platte,  is  one  vast  inclined  plane. 

The  Union  Pacific  Railway  winds  over  these  Black 
Hills  at  Sherman, — the  lowest  point  the  engineers  could 
find, — and  Sherman  is  over  eight  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea. 

From  Sherman,  eastward,  in  less  than  an  hour's  run 
the  cars  go  sliding  down  with  smoking  brakes  to  Chey 
enne,  a  fall  of  two  thousand  feet.  But  the  wagon-road 
from  Cheyenne  to  Fort  Laramie  twists  and  winds  among 
the  ravines  and  over  the  divides  of  this  lofty  prairie ; 
so  that  Ralph  and  his  soldier  friends,  while  riding 
jauntily  over  the  hard-beaten  track  this  clear,  crisp, 
sunshiny,  breezy  morning,  were  twice  as  high  above 
the  sea  as  they  would  have  been  at  the  tiptop  of  the 
Catskills  and  higher  even  than  had  they  been  at  the 
very  summit  of  Mount  Washington. 

The  air  at  this  height,  though  rare,  is  keen  and  ex 
hilarating,  and  one  needs  no  second  look  at  the  troopers 
to  see  how  bright  are  their  eyes  and  how  nimble  and 
elastic  is  the  pace  of  their  steeds. 

The  commanding  officer,  with  his  adjutant  and 
orderlies  and  a  little  group  of  staff  sergeants,  had 
halted  at  the  crest  of  one  of  these  ridges  and  was  look 
ing  back  at  the  advancing  column.  Beside  the  winding 
road  was  strung  a  line  of  wires, — the  military  telegraph 
to  the  border  forts, — and  with  the  exception  of  those 
bare  poles  not  a  stick  of  timber  was  anywhere  in  sight. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT."         53 

The  whole  surface  is  destitute  of  bush  or  tree,  but 
the  thick  little  bunches  of  gray-green  grass  that  cover 
it  everywhere  are  rich  with  juice  and  nutriment.  This 
is  the  buffalo  grass  of  the  Western  prairies,  and  the 
moment  the  horses'  heads  are  released  down  go  their 
nozzles,  and  they  are  cropping  eagerly  and  gratefully. 

Far  as  the  eye  can  see  to  the  north  and  east  it  roams 
over  a  rolling,  tumbling  surface  that  seems  to  have  be 
come  suddenly  petrified.  Far  to  the  south  are  the 
snow-shimmering  peaks ;  near  at  hand,  to  the  west,  are 
the  gloomy  gorges  and  ravines  and  wide  wastes  of  up 
land  of  the  Black  Hills  of  Wyoming ;  and  so  clear  is 
the  #ir  that  they  seem  but  a  short  hour's  gallop  away. 

There  is  something  strangely  deceptive  about  the 
Distances  in  an  atmosphere  so  rare  and  clear  as  this. 

A  young  surgeon  was  taking  his  first  ride  with  a 

avalry  column  in   the  wide  West,  and,  as  he  looked 

oack  into  the  valley   through  which   they  had  been 

marching  for  over  half  an  hour,  his  face  was  clouded 

with  an  expression  of  odd  perplexity. 

"What's  the  matter,  doctor?"  asked  the  adjutant, 
with  a  grin  on  his  face.  "  Are  you  wondering  whether 
those  fellows  really  are  United  States  regulars?"  and 
the  young  officer  nodded  towards  the  long  column  of 
horsemen  in  broad-brimmed  slouch  hats  and  flannel 
shirts  or  fanciful  garb  of  Indian  tanned  buckskin. 
Even  among  the  officers  there  was  hardly  a  sign  of 
the  uniform  or  trappings  which  distinguish  the  soldiers 
in  garrison. 

"  No,  it  isn't  that.  I  knew  that  you  fellows  who 
had  served  so  long  in  Arizona  had  got  out  of  the  way 
of  wearing  uniform  in  the  field  against  Indians.  What 

5* 


54  WELL    WON;   OR, 

I  can't  understand  is  that  ridge  over  there.  I  thought 
we  had  been  down  in  a  hollow  for  the  last  half-hour, 
yet  look  at  it ;  we  must  have  come  over  that  when  I 
was  thinking  of  something  else." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  doctor/'  laughed  the  colonel. 
"  That's  where  we  dismounted  and  took  a  short  rest 
and  gave  the  horses  a  chance  to  pick  a  bit." 

"  Why,  but,  colonel !  that  must  have  been  two 
miles  back, — full  half  an  hour  ago :  you  don't  mean 
that  ridge  is  two  miles  away?  I  could  almost  hit 
that  man  riding  down  the  road  towards  us." 

"  It  would  be  a  wonderful  shot,  doctor.  That  man 
is  one  of  the  teamsters  who  went  back  after  a  dropped 
pistol.  He  is  a  mile  and  a  half  away." 

The  doctor's  eyes  were  wide  open  with  wonder. 

"  Of  course  you  must  know,  colonel,  but  it  is  incom 
prehensible  to  me." 

"  It  is  easily  proved,  doctor.  Take  these  two  tele 
graph  poles  nearest  us  and  tell  me  how  far  they  are 
apart." 

The  doctor  looked  carefully  from  one  pole  to  another. 
Only  a  single  wire  was  strung  along  the  line,  and  the 
poles  were  stout  and  strong.  After  a  moment's  study 
he  said,  "  Well,  they  are  just  about  seventy-five  yardh 
apart." 

"  More  than  that,  doctor.  They  are  a  good  hundred 
yards.  But  even  at  your  estimate,  just  count  the  poles 
back  to  that  ridge — of  course  they  are  equidistant,  or 
nearly  so,  all  along — and  tell  me  how  far  you  make 
it."  " 

The  doctor's  eyes  began  to  dilate  again  as  he  silently 
took  account  of  the  number. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO   "  THE  POINT."         55 

"  I  declare,  there  are  over  twenty  to  the  rear  of  the 
wagon-train  and  nearly  forty  across  the  ridge !  I  give 
it  up." 

"And  now  look  here,"  said  the  colonel,  pointing 
out  to  the  eastward  where  some  lithe-limbed  hounds 
were  coursing  over  the  prairie  with  Ralph  on  his  fleet 
sorrel  racing  in  pursuit.  "Look  at  young  McCrea 
out  there  where  there  are  no  telegraph  poles  to  help 
you  judge  the  distance.  If  he  were  an  Indian  whom 
you  wanted  to  bring  down  what  would  you  set  your 
sights  at,  providing  you  had  time  to  set  them  at  all  ?''* 
and  the  veteran  Indian  fighter  smiled  grimly. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  too  big  a  puzzle  for  me,"  he  answered.  "  Five 
minutes  ago  I  would  have  said  three  hundred  at  the 
utmost,  but  I  don't  know  now." 

"  How  about  that,  Nihil  ?"  asked  the  colonel,  turn 
ing  to  a  soldier  riding  with  the  head-quarters  party. 

NihiPs  brown  hand  goes  up  to  the  brim  of  his  scout 
ing  hat  in  salute,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"  The  bullet  would  kick  up  a  dust  this  side  of  him, 
sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"  People  sometimes  wonder  why  it  is  we  manage  to 
hit  so  few  of  these  Cheyennes  or  Sioux  in  our  battles 
with  them,"  said  the  colonel.  "  Now  you  can  get  an 
idea  of  one  of  the  difficulties.  They  rarely  come 
within  six  hundred  yards  of  us  when  they  are  attack 
ing  a  train  or  an  infantry  escort,  and  are  always  riding 
full  tilt,  just  as  you  saw  Ralph  just  now.  It  is  next 
to  impossible  to  hit  them." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  doctor.  "  How  splendidly 
that  boy  rides !" 


56  WELL    WON;   OR, 

"Ralph?  Yes.  He's  a  genuine  trooper.  Now, 
there's  a  boy  whose  whole  ambition  is  to  go  to  West 
Point.  He's  a  manly,  truthful,  dutiful  young  fellow, 
born  and  raised  in  the  army,  knows  the  plains  by  heart, 
and  just  the  one  to  make  a  brilliant  and  valuable 
cavalry  officer,  but  there  isn't  a  ghost  of  a  chance  for 
him." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  not  ?  Why !  how  is  he  to  get  an  appoint 
ment?  If  he  had  a  home  somewhere  in  the  East, 
and  his  father  had  influence  with  the  Congressman  of 
the  district,  it  might  be  done ;  but  the  sons  of  army 
officers  have  really  very  little  chance.  The  President 
used  to  have  ten  appointments  a  year,  but  Congress 
took  them  away  from  him.  They  thought  there  were 
too  many  cadets  at  the  Point;  but  while  they  were 
virtuously  willing  to  reduce  somebody  else's  preroga 
tives  in  that  line,  it  did  not  occur  to  them  that  they 
might  trim  a  little  on  their  own.  Now  the  President 
is  allowed  only  ten  '  all  told,'  and  can  appoint  no  boy 
until  some  of  his  ten  are  graduated  or  otherwise  dis 
posed  of.  It  really  gives  him  only  two  or  three  ap 
pointments  a  year,  and  he  has  probably  a  thousand 
applicants  for  every  one.  What  chance  has  an  army 
boy  in  Wyoming  against  the  son  of  some  fellow  with 
Senators  and  Representatives  at  his  back  in  Washing 
ton  ?  If  the  army  could  name  an  occasional  candidate, 
a  boy  like  Ralph  would  be  sure  to  go,  and  we  would 
have  more  soldiers  and  fewer  scientists  in  the  cavalry." 

By  this  time  the  head  of  the  compact  column  was 
well  up,  and  the  captain  of  the  leading  troop,  riding 
with  his  first  lieutenant  in  front  of  his  sets  of  fours, 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO   "  THE  POINT.''         57 

looked  inquiringly  at  the  colonel,  as  though  half  ex 
pectant  of  a  signal  to  halt  or  change  the  gait.  Receiv 
ing  none,  and  seeing  that  the  colonel  had  probably 
stopped  to  look  over  his  command,  the  senior  troop 
leader  pushed  steadily  on. 

Behind  him,  four  abreast,  came  the  dragoons, — a 
stalwart,  sunburned,  soldierly-looking  lot.  Not  a  par 
ticle  of  show  or  glitter  in  their  attire  or  equipment. 
Utterly  unlike  the  dazzling  hussars  of  England  or  the 
European  continent,  when  the  troopers  of  the  United 
States  are  out  on  the  broad  prairies  of  the  West  "  for 
business,"  as  they  put  it,  hardly  a  brass  button,  even, 
is  to  be  seen. 

The  colonel  notes  with  satisfaction  the  nimble,  active 
pace  of  the  horses  as  they  go  by  at  rapid  walk,  and  the 
easy  seat  of  the  men  in  their  saddles. 

First  the  bays  of  "  K"  Troop  trip  quickly  past ;  then 
the  beautiful,  sleek  grays  of  "  B,"  Captain  Mont 
gomery's  company ;  then  more  bays  in  "  I"  and  "  A." 
and  "  D,"  and  then  some  sixty-five  blacks,  "  C"  Troop's 
color. 

There  are  two  sorrel  troops  in  the  regiment  and  more 
bays,  and  later  in  the  year,  when  new  horses  were  ob 
tained,  the  Fifth  had  a  roan  and  a  dark-brown  troop  ; 
but  in  June,  when  they  were  marching  up  to  take  their 
part  in  the  great  campaign  that  followed,  only  two  of 
their  companies  were  not  mounted  on  bright  bay  horses, 
and  one  and  all  they  were  in  the  pink  of  condition  and 
eager  for  a  burst  "  'cross  country." 

It  was,  however,  their  colonel's  desire  to  take  them 
to  their  destination  in  good  trim,  and  he  permitted  no 
"  larking." 


58  WELL    WON;    OR, 

They  had  several  hundred  miles  of  weary  marching 
before  them.  Much  of  the  country  beyond  the  Platte 
was  "  Bad  Lands,"  where  the  grass  is  scant  and  poor, 
the  soiJ  ashen  and  spongy,  and  the  water  densely  alka 
line.  All  this  would  tell  very  sensibly  upon  the  con 
dition  of  horses  that  all  winter  long  had  been  comfort 
ably  stabled,  regularly  groomed  and  grain-fed,  and 
watered  only  in  pure  running  streams  flushed  by  springs 
or  melting  snow. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  young  Ralph  to  be  coursing 
.about  on  his  fleet,  elastic  sorrel,  radiant  with  delight  as 
the  boy  was  at  being  again  "  out  on  the  plains"  and  in 
the  saddle ;  but  the  cavalry  commander's  first  care  must 
be  to  bring  his  horses  to  the  scene  of  action  in  the  most 
effective  state  of  health  and  soundness.  The  first  few 
days'  marching,  therefore,  had  to  be  watched  with  the 
utmost  care. 

As  the  noon  hour  approached,  the  doctor  noted  how 
the  hills  off  to  the  west  seemed  to  be  growing  higher, 
and  that  there  were  broader  vistas  of  wide  ranges  of 
barren  slopes  to  the  east  and  north. 

The  colonel  was  riding  some  distance  ahead  of  the 
battalion,  his  little  escort  close  beside,  and  Ralph  was 
giving  Buford  a  resting  spell,  and  placidly  ambling 
alongside  the  doctor. 

Sergeant  Wells  was  riding  somewhere  in  the  column 
with  some  chum  of  old  days.  He  belonged  to  another 
regiment,  but  knew  the  Fifth  of  old.  The  hounds  had 
tired  of  chasing  over  a  waterless  country,  and  with 
lolling  tongues  were  trotting  behind  their  masters' 
horses. 

The  doctor  was  vastly  interested  in  what   he   had 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  "  THE  POINT."         59 

heard  of  Ralph,  and  engaged  him  in  talk.  Just  as 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  broad,  open  valley  in  which 
runs  the  sparkling  Lodge  Pole,  a  two-horse  wagon 
rumbled  up  alongside,  and  there  on  the  front  seat  was 
Farron,  the  ranchman,  with  bright-eyed,  bonny-faced 
little  Jessie  smiling  beside  him. 

"  We've  caught  you,  Ralph,"  he  laughed,  "  though 
we  left  Russell  an  hour  or  more  behind  you.  I  s'pose 
you'll  all  camp  at  Lodge  Pole  for  the  night.  We're 
going  on  to  the  Chug." 

"Hadn't  you  better  see  the  colonel  about  that?" 
asked  Ralph,  anxiously. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right!  I  got  telegrams  from  Laramie 
and  the  Chug,  both,  just  before  we  left  Russell.  Not 
an  Indian's  been  heard  of  this  side  of  the  Platte,  and 
your  father's  troop  has  just  got  in  to  Laramie." 

"  Has  he  ?"  exclaimed  Ralph,  with  delight.  "  Then 
he  knows  I've  started,  and  perhaps  he'll  come  on  to  the 
Chug  or  Eagle's  Nest  and  meet  me." 

"  More'n  likely,"  answered  Farron.  "  You  and  the 
sergeant  had  better  come  ahead  and  spend  the  night 
with  me  at  the  ranch." 

"  I've  no  doubt  the  colonel  will  let  us  go  ahead  with 
you,"  answered  Ralph,  "  but  the  ranch  is  too  far  off 
the  road.  We  would  have  to  stay  at  Phillips's  for  the 
night.  What  say  you,  sergeant?"  he  asked,  as  Wells 
came  loping  up  alongside. 

"  The  very  plan,  I  think.  Somebody  will  surely 
come  ahead  to  meet  us,  and  we  can  make  Laramie  two 
days  before  the  Fifth." 

"  Then,  good-by,  doctor ;  I  must  ask  the  colonel  first, 
but  we'll  see  you  at  Laramie." 


60  WELL    WON;   OR, 

"  Good-by,  Ralph,  and  good  luck  to  you  in  getting 
that  cadetship." 

"  Oh,  well !  I  must  trust  to  luck  for  that.  Father 
says  it  all  depends  on  my  getting  General  Sheridan  to 
back  me.  If  he  would  only  ask  for  me,  or  if  I  could 
only  do  something  to  make  him  glad  to  ask ;  but  what 
chance  is  there  ?" 

What  chance,  indeed  ?  Ralph  McCrea  little  dreamed 
that  at  that  very  moment  General  Sheridan — far  away 
in  Chicago — was  reading  despatches  that  determined 
him  to  go  at  once,  himself,  to  Red  Cloud  Agency ;  that 
in  four  days  more  the  general  would  be  there,  at  Lar- 
amie,  and  that  in  two  wonderful  days,  meantime — but 
who  was  there  who  dreamed  what  would  happen  mean 
time? 


CHAPTER    III. 

DANGER   IN   THE   AIK. 

WHEN  the  head  of  the  cavalry  column  reached  the 
bridge  over  Lodge  Pole  Creek  a  march  of  about  twenty- 
five  miles  had  been  made,  which  is  an  average  day's 
journey  for  cavalry  troops  when  nothing  urgent  hastens 
their  movements. 

Filing  to  the  right,  the  horsemen  moved  down  the 
north  bank  of  the  rapidly-running  stream,  and  as  soon 
as  the  rearmost  troop  was  clear  of  the  road  and  beyond 
reach  of  its  dust,  the  trumpets  sounded  "halt"  and 
"  dismount/7  and  in  five  minutes  the  horses,  unsaddled, 
were  rolling  on  the  springy  turf,  and  then  were  driven 


Fh^M  THL    PLAINS   TO   "  THE  POINT."          {ft 

out  in  herds,  each  company's  by  itself,  to  graze  during 
the  afternoon  along  the  slopes.  Each  herd  was  watched 
and  guarded  by  half  a  dozen  armed  troopers,  and  such 
horses  as  were  notorious  "  stampeders"  were  securely 
"  side-lined"  or  hobbled. 

Along  the  stream  little  white  tents  were  pitched  as 
the  wagons  rolled  in  and  were  unloaded ;  and  then  the 
braying  mules,  rolling  and  kicking  in  their  enjoyment 
of  freedom  from  harness,  were  driven  out  and  disposed 
upon  the  slopes  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  horses. 
The  smokes  of  little  fires  began  to  float  into  the  air, 
and  the  jingle  of  spoon  and  coffee-pot  and  "spider" 
and  skillet  told  that  the  cooks  were  busy  getting  dinner 
for  the  hungry  campaigners. 

Such  appetites  as  those  long-day  marches  give ! 
Such  delight  in  life  and  motion  one  feels  as  he  drinks 
in  that  rare,  keen  mountain  air !  Some  of  the  soldiers 
— old  plainsmen — are  already  prone  upon  the  turf, 
their  heads  pillowed  on  their  saddles,  their  slouch  hats 
pulled  down  over  their  eyes,  snatching  half  an  hour's 
dreamless  sleep  before  the  cooks  shall  summon  them  to 
dinner. 

One  officer  from  each  company  is  still  in  saddle, 
riding  around  the  horses  of  his  own  troop  to  see  that 
the  grass  is  well  chosen  and  that  his  guards  are  properly 
posted  and  on  the.  alert.  Over  at  the  road  there  stands 
a  sort  of  frontier  tavern  and  stage  station,  at  which  is 
a  telegraph  office,  and  the  colonel  has  been  sending  de 
spatches  to  Department  Head-Quarters  to  announce  the 
safe  arrival  of  his  command  at  Lodge  Pole  en  route  for 
Fort  Laramie.  Now  he  is  talking  with  Ralph. 

"  It  isn't  that,  my  boy.  I  do  not  suppose  there  is 
6 


62  WELL    WON;   OR, 

an  Indian  anywhere  near  the  Chug  water ;  but  if  youi 
father  thought  it  best  that  you  should  wait  and  start 
with  us,  I  think  it  was  his  desire  that  you  should  keep 
in  the  protection  of  the  column  all  the  way.  Don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do.  The  only  question  now  is,  will  he 
not  come  or  send  forward  to  the  Chug  to  meet  me,  and 
could  I  not  be  with  mother  two  days  earlier  that  way  ? 
Besides,  Farron  is  determined  to  go  ahead  as  soon  as 
he  has  had  dinner,  and — I  don't  like  to  think  of  little 
Jessie  being  up  there  at  the  Chug  just  now.  Would 
you  mind  my  telegraphing  to  father  at  Laramie  and 
asking  him  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Ralph.     Do  so." 

And  so  a  despatch  was  sent  to  Laramie,  and  in  the 
course  of  an  hour,  just  as  they  had  enjoyed  a  comfort 
able  dinner,  there  came  the  reply, — 

"  All  right.  Come  ahead  to  Phillips's  Ranch.  Party 
will  meet  you  there  at  eight  in  the  morning.  They 
stop  at  Eagle's  Nest  to-night." 

Ralph's  eyes  danced  as  he  showed  this  to  the  colonel 
who  read  it  gravely  and  replied, — 

"  It  is  all  safe,  I  fancy,  or  your  father  would  not  say 
so.  They  have  patrols  all  along  the  bank  of  the  Platte 
to  the  southeast,  and  no  Indians  can  cross  without  its 
being  discovered  in  a  few  hours.  I  suppose  they  never 
come  across  between  Laramie  and  Fetterman,  do  they, 
Ralph  ?" 

"  Certainly  not  of  late  years,  colonel.  It  is  so  far  off 
their  line  to  the  reservations  where  they  have  to  run  for 
safety  after  their  depredations." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  now  that  all  but  two  troops  of 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  "  THE  POINT."         63 

cavalry  have  gone  up  with  General  Crook  they  might 
be  emboldened  to  try  a  wider  sweep.  That's  all  Fm 
afraid  of." 

"  Even  if  the  Indians  came,  colonel,  they've  got 
those  ranch  buildings  so  loop-holed  and %  fortified  at 
Phillips's  that  we  could  stand  them  off  a  week  if  need 
be,  and  you  would  reach  there  by  noon  at  latest." 

"  Yes.  We  make  an  early  start  to-morrow  morning, 
and  'twill  be  just  another  twenty-five  miles  to  our  camp 
on  the  Chug.  If  all  is  well  you  will  be  nearly  to  Eagle's 
Nest  by  the  time  we  get  to  Phillips's,  and  yon  will  be  at 
Laramie  before  the  sunset-gun  to-morrow.  Well,  give 
my  regards  to  your  father,  Ralph,  and  keep  your  eye 
open  for  the  main  chance.  We  cavalry  people  want 
you  for  our  representative  at  West  Point,  you  know." 

"  Thank  you  for  that,  colonel,"  answered  Ralph, 
with  sparkling  eyes.  "  I  sha'n't  forget  it  in  many  a 
day." 

So  it  happened  that  late  that  afternoon,  with  Farron 
driving  his  load  of  household  goods ;  with  brown- 
haired  little  Jessie  lying  sound  asleep  with  her  head  on 
his  lap  ;  with  Sergeant  Wells  cantering  easily  alongside 
and  Ralph  and  Buford  scouting  a  little  distance  ahead, 
the  two-horse  wagon  rolled  over  the  crest  of  the  last 
divide  and  came  just  at  sunset  in  sight  of  the  beautiful 
valley  with  the  odd  name  of  Chugwater. 

Farther  up  the  stream  towards  its  sources  among 
the  pine-crested  Black  Hills,  there  were  many  places 
where  the  busy  beavers  had  dammed  its  flow.  The 
Indians,  bent  on  trapping  these  wary  creatures,  had 
listened  in  the  stillness  of  the  solitudes  to  the  battering 
of  those  wonderful  tails  upon  the  mud  walls  of  their 


64  WELL    WON;    OR, 

darns  and  forts,  and  had  named  the  little  river  after 
its  most  marked  characteristic,  the  constant  "chug, 
chug"  of  those  cricket-bat  caudals. 

On  the  west  of  the  winding  stream,  in  the  smiling 
valley  with'  tiny  patches  of  verdure,  lay  the  ranch 
with  its  out-buildings,  corrals,  and  the  peacefully 
browsing  stock  around  it,  and  little  Jessie  woke  at  her 
father's  joyous  shout  and  pointed  out  her  home  to 
Ralph. 

There  where  the  trail  wound  away  from  the  main 
road  the  wagon  and  horsemen  must  separate,  and 
Ralph  reined  close  alongside  and  took  Jessie  in  his 
arms  and  was  hugged  tight  as  he  kissed  her  bonny 
face.  Then  he  and  the  sergeant  shook  hands  heartily 
with  Farron,  set  spurs  to  their  horses,  and  went  loping 
down  northeastward  to  the  broader  reaches  of  the 
valley. 

On  their  right,  across  the  lowlands,  ran  the  long 
ridge  ending  in  an  abrupt  precipice,  that  was  the 
scene  of  the  great  buffalo-killing  by  the  Indians  many 
a  long  year  ago.  Straight  ahead  were  the  stage  station, 
the  forage  sheds,  and  the  half  dozen  buildings  of 
Phillips's.  All  was  as  placid  and  peaceful  in  the  soft 
evening  light  as  if  no  hostile  Indian  had  ever  existed. 

Yet  there  were  to  be  seen  signs  of  preparation  for 
Indian  attack.  The  herder  whom  the  travellers  met 
two  miles  south  of  the  station  was  heavily  armed  and 
his  mate  was  only  short  rifle-shot  away.  The  men 
waved  their  hats  to  Ralph  and  his  soldier  comrade, 
and  one  of  them  called  out,  "  Whar'd  ye  leave  the 
cavalry  ?"  and  seemed  disappointed  to  hear  they  were 
as  far  back  as  Lodge  Pole. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO   "THE  POINT.",        65 

At  the  station,  they  found  the  ranchmen  prepared 
for  their  coming  and  glad  to  see  them.  Captain  Mo- 
Crea  had  telegraphed  twice  during  the  afternoon  and 
seemed  anxious  to  know  of  their  arrival. 

"  He's  in  the  office  at  Laramie  now,"  said  the  tele 
graph  agent,  with  a  smile,  "  and  I  wired  him  the  mo 
ment  we  sighted  you  coming  down  the  hill.  Come  in 
and  send  him  a  few  words.  It  will  please  him  more 
than  anything  I  can  say." 

So  Ralph  stepped  into  the  little  room  with  its  soli 
tary  instrument  and  lonely  operator.  In  those  days 
there  was  little  use  for  the  line  except  for  the  conduct 
ing  of  purely  military  business,  and  the  agents  or 
operators  were  all  soldiers  detailed  for  the  purpose. 
Here  at  "  The  Chug"  the  instrument  rested  on  a  little 
table  by  the  loop-hole  of  a  window  in  the  side  of  the 
log  hut.  Opposite  it  was  the  soldier's  narrow  camp- 
bed  with  its  brown  army  blankets  and  with  his  heavy 
overcoat  thrown  over  the  foot.  Close  at  hand  stood 
his  Springfield  rifle,  with  the  belt  of  cartridges,  and 
over  the  table  hung  two  Colt's  revolvers. 

All  through  the  rooms  of  the  station  the  same  war 
like  preparations  were  visible,  for  several  times  during 
the  spring  and  early  summer  war  parties  of  Indians 
had  come  prowling  up  the  valley,  driving  the  herders 
before  them ;  but,  having  secured  all  the  beef  cattle 
they  could  handle,  they  had  hurried  back  to  the  fords 
of  the  Platte  and,  except  on  one  or  two  occasions,  had 
committed  no  murders. 

Well  knowing  the  pluck  of  the  little  community 
at  Phillips's,  the  Indians  had  not  come  within  long 
rifle  range  of  the  ranch,  but  on  the  last  two  visits  the 


66  WELL    WON;   OR, 

warriors  seemed  to  have  grown  bolder.  While  most 
of  the  Indians  were  rounding  up  cattle  and  scurrying 
about  in  the  valley,  two  miles  below  the  ranch,  it  was 
noted  that  two  warriors,  on  their  nimble  ponies,  had 
climbed  the  high  ridge  on  the  east  that  overlooked  the 
ranches  in  the  valley  beyond  and  above  Phillips's,  and 
were  evidently  taking  deliberate  note  of  the  entire 
situation. 

One  of  the  Indians  was  seen  to  point  a  long,  bare 
arm,  on  which  silver  wristlets  and  bands  flashed  in  the 
sun,  at  Farron's  lonely  ranch  four  miles  up-stream. 

That  was  more  than  the  soldier  telegrapher  could 
bear  patiently.  He  took  his  Springfield  rifle  out  into 
the  fields,  and  opened  a  long  range  fire  on  these  ad 
venturous  redskins. 

The  Indians  were  a  good  mile  away,  but  that  honest 
"  Long  Tom"  sent  its  leaden  missiles  whistling  about 
their  ears,  and  kicking  up  the  dust  around  their  ponies' 
heels,  until,  after  a  few  defiant  shouts  and  such  insult 
ing  and  contemptuous  gestures  as  they  could  think  of, 
the  two  had  ducked  suddenly  out  of  sight  behind  the 
blufls. 

All  this  the  ranch  people  told  Ralph  and  the  ser 
geant,  as  they  were  enjoying  a  hot  supper  after  the  fifty- 
mile  ride  of  the  day.  Afterwards  the  two  travellers 
went  out  into  the  corral  to  see  that  their  horses  were 
secure  for  the  night. 

Buford  looked  up  with  eager  whinny  at  Ralph's  foot 
step,  pricked  his  pretty  ears,  and  looked  as  full  of  life 
and  spirit  as  if  he  had  never  had  a  hard  day's  gallop  in 
his  life.  Sergeant  Wells  had  given  him  a  careful  rub 
bing  down  while  Ralph  was  at  the  telegraph  office,  and 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  »  THE  POINT."         67 

later,  when  the  horses  were  thoroughly  cool,  they  were 
watered  at  the  running  stream  and  given  a  hearty  feed 
of  oats. 

Phillips  came  out  to  lock  up  his  stable  while  they 
were  petting  Buford,  and  stood  there  a  moment  ad 
miring  the  pretty  fellow. 

"  With  your  weight  I  think  he  could  make  a  race 
against  any  horse  in  the  cavalry,  couldn't  he,  Mr. 
Kalph?"  he  asked. 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure,  Phillips :  the  colonel  of  the 
Fifth  Cavalry  has  a  horse  that  I  might  not  care  to  race. 
He  was  being  led  along  behind  the  head-quarters  escort 
to-day.  Barring  that  horse  Van,  I  would  ride  Buford 
against  any  horse  Pve  ever  seen  in  the  service  for  any 
distance  from  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  a  day's  march." 

"  But  those  Indian  ponies,  Mr.  Ralph,  couldn't  they 
beat  him  ?" 

"  Over  rough  ground — up  hill  and  down  dale — I 
suppose  some  of  them  could.  I  saw  their  races  up  at 
Red  Cloud  last  year,  and  old  Spotted  Tail  brought  over 
a  couple  of  ponies  from  Camp  Sheridan  that  ran  like  a 
streak,  and  there  was  a  Minneconjou  chief  there  who 
had  a  very  fast  pony.  Some  of  the  young  Ogallallas 
had  quick,  active  beasts,  but,  take  them  on  a  straight 
away  run,  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  try  my  luck  with 
Buford  against  the  best  of  them." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you'll  never  have  to  ride  for  your  life 
on  him.  He's  pretty  and  sound  and  fast,  but  those 
Indians  have  such  wind  and  bottom ;  they  never  seem 
to  give  out." 

A  little  later — at  about  half  after  eight  o'clock — 
Sergeant  Wells,  the  telegraph  operator,  and  one  or  two 


68  WELL    WON;  OR, 

of  the  ranchmen  sat  tilted  back  in  their  rough  chairs 
on  the  front  porch  of  the  station  enjoying  their  pipes. 
Ralph  had  begun  to  feel  a  little  sleepy,  and  was  ready 
to  turn  in  when  he  was  attracted  by  the  conversation 
between  the  two  soldiers ;  the  operator  was  speaking, 
and  the  seriousness  of  his  tone  caused  the  boy  to  listen. 

"  It  isn't  that  we  have  any  particular  cause  to 
worry  just  here.  With  our  six  or  seven  men  we 
could  easily  stand  off  the  Indians  until  help  came,  but 
it's  Farron  and  little  Jessie  I'm  thinking  of.  He  and 
his  two  men  would  have  no  show  whatever  in  case  of 
a  sudden  and  determined  attack.  They  have  not  been 
harmed  so  far,  because  the  Indians  always  crossed 
below  Laramie  and  came  up  to  the  Chug,  and  so 
there  was  timely  warning.  Now,  they  have  seen 
Farron's  place  up  there  all  by  itself.  They  can  easily 
find  out,  by  hanging  around  the  traders  at  Red  Cloud, 
who  lives  there,  how  many  men  he  has,  and  about 
Jessie.  Next  to  surprising  and  killing  a  white  man 
in  cold  blood,  those  fellows  like  nothing  better  than 
carrying  off  a  white  child  and  concealing  it  among 
them.  The  gypsies  have  the  same  trait.  Now,  they 
know  that  so  long  as  they  cross  below  Laramie  the 
scouts  are  almost  sure  to  discover  it  in  an  hour  or 
two,  and  as  soon  as  they  strike  the  Chug  Valley  some 
herders  come  tumbling  in  here  and  give  the  alarm. 
They  have  come  over  regularly  every  moon,  since 
General  Crook  went  up  in  February,  until  now." 

The  operator  went  on  impressively  : 

"The  moon's  almost  on  the  wane,  and  they  haven't 
shown  up  yet.  Now,  what  worries  me  is  just  this. 
Suppose  they  should  push  out  westward  from  the  reser- 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  «  THE  POINT."         g£ 

vation,  cross  the  Platte  somewhere  about  Bull  Bend  01 
even  nearer  Lararaie,  and  come  down  the  Chug  from 
the  north.  Who  is  to  give  Farron  warning  ?" 

"  They're  bound  to  hear  it  at  Laramie  and  telegraph 
you  at  once,"  suggested  one  of  the  ranchmen 

"  Not  necessarily.  The  river  isn't  picketed  between 
Fetterman  and  Laramie,  simply  because  the  Indians 
have  always  tried  the  lower  crossings.  The  stages  go 
through  three  times  a  week,  and  there  are  frequent 
couriers  and  trains,  but  they  don't  keep  a  lookout  for 
pony  tracks.  The  chances  are  that  their  crossing  would 
not  be  discovered  for  twenty-four  hours  or  so,  and  as  to 
the  news  being  wired  to  us  here,  those  reds  would  never 
give  us  a  chance.  The  first  news  we  got  of  their  devil 
try  would  be  that  they  had  cut  the  line  ten  or  twelve 
miles  this  side  of  Laramie  as  they  came  sweeping  down. 

"  I  tell  you,  boys,"  continued  the  operator,  half 
rising  from  his  chair  in  his  earnestness,  "  I  hate  to 
think  of  little  Jessie  up  there  to-night.  I  go  in 
every  few  minutes  and  call  up  Laramie  or  Fetterman 
just  to  feel  that  all  is  safe,  and  stir  up  Lodge  Pole,  be 
hind  us,  to  realize  that  we've  got  the  Fifth  Cavalry 
only  twenty-five  miles  away  ;  but  the  Indians  haven't 
missed  a  moon  yet,  and  there's  only  one  more  night  of 
this." 

Even  as  his  hearers  sat  in  silence,  thinking  over  the 
soldier's  words,  there  came  from  the  little  cabin  the 
sharp  and  sudden  clicking  of  the  telegraph.  "  It's  my 
call,"  exclaimed  the  operator,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  ran  to  his  desk. 

Ralph  and  Sergeant  Wells  were  close  at  his  heels ; 
he  had  clicked  his  answering  signal,  seized  a  pencil,  and 


70  WELL    WON;    OR, 

was  rapidly  taking  down  a  message.  They  saw  his 
eyes  dilate  and  his  lips  quiver  with  suppressed  excite 
ment.  Once,  indeed,  he  made  an  impulsive  reach  with 
his  hand,  as  if  to  touch  the  key  and  shut  off  the  mes 
sage  and  interpose  some  idea  of  his  own,  but  discipline 
prevailed. 

u  It's  for  you,"  he  said,  briefly,  nodding  up  to  Ralph, 
while  he  went  on  to  copy  the  message. 

It  was  a  time  of  anxious  suspense  in  the  little  office. 
The  sergeant  paced  silently  to  and  fro  with  unusual 
erectness  of  bearing  and  a  firmly-compressed  lip.  His 
appearance  and  attitude  were  that  of  the  soldier  who 
has  divined  approaching  danger  and  who  awaits  the 
order  for  action.  Ralph,  who  could  hardly  control  his 
impatience,  stood  watching  the  rapid  fingers  of  the 
operator  as  they  traced  out  a  message  which  was  evi 
dently  of  deep  moment. 

At  last  the  transcript  was  finished,  and  the  operator 
handed  it  to  the  boy.  Ralph's  hand  was  trembling 
with  excitement  as  he  took  the  paper  and  carried  it 
close  to  the  light.  It  read  as  follows : 

11  KALPH  McCREA,  Chugwater  Station : 

"  Black  Hills  stage  reports  having  crossed  trail  of  large  war 
party  going  west,  this  side  of  Kawhide  Butte.  My  troop  ordered 
at  once  in  pursuit.  Wait  for  Fifth  Cavalry. 

"  GORDON  McCREA." 

"Going  west,  this  side  of  Rawhide  Butte,"  said 
Ralph,  as  calmly  as  he  could.  "That  means  that 
they  are  twenty  miles  north  of  Laramie,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Platte." 

"It  means  that  they  knew  what  they  were  doing 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  "THE  ruiNT."         71 

when  they  crossed  just  behind  the  last  stage  so  as  to 
give  no  warning,  and  that  their  trail  was  nearly  two 
days  old  when  seen  by  the  down  stage  this  afternoon. 
It  means  that  they  crossed  the  stage  road,  Ralph,  but 
how  long  ago  was  that,  do  you  think,  and  where  are 
they  now?  It  is  my  belief  that  they  crossed  the 
Platte  above  Laramie  last  night  or  early  this  morning, 
and  will  be  down  on  us  to-night." 

"  Wire  that  to  Laramie,  then,  at  once,"  said  Ralph. 
"  It  may  not  be  too  late  to  turn  the  troop  this  way." 

"  I  can  only  say  what  I  think  to  my  fellow- operator 
there,  and  can't  even  do  that  now;  the  commanding 
officer  is  sending  despatches  to  Omaha,  and  asking 
that  the  Fifth  Cavalry  be  ordered  to  send  forward  a 
troop  or  two  to  guard  the  Chug.  But  there's  no  one 
at  the  head-quarters  this  time  o'  night.  Besides,  if 
we  volunteer  any  suggestions,  they  will  say  we  were 
stampeded  down  here  by  a  band  of  Indians  that  didn  t 
come  within  seventy-five  miles  of  us." 

"  Well,  father  won't  misunderstand  me,"  said  Ralph, 
"  and  I'm  not  afraid  to  ask  him  to  think  of  what  you 
say ;  wire  it  to  him  in  my  name." 

There  was  a  long  interval,  twenty  minutes  or  so, 
before  the  operator  could  "get  the  line."  When  at 
last  he  succeeded  in  sending  his  despatch,  he  stopped 
short  in  the  midst  of  it. 

"  It's  no  use,  Ralph.  Your  father's  troop  was  three 
miles  away  before  his  message  was  sent.  There  were 
reports  from  Red  Cloud  that  made  the  commanding 
officer  believe  there  were  some  Cheyennes  going  up  to 
attack  couriers  or  trains  between  Fetterman  and  the 
Big  Horn.  He  is  away  north  of  the  Platte." 


72  WELL    WON;   OR, 

Another  few  minutes  of  thoughtful  silence,  then 
Ralph  turned  to  his  soldier  friend, — 

"  Sergeant,  I  have  to  obey  father's  orders  and  stay 
here,  but  it's  my  belief  that  Farron  should  be  put  on 
his  guard  at  once.  What  say  you  ?" 

"  If  you  agree,  sir,  I'll  ride  up  and  spend  the  night 
with  him." 

"  Then  go  by  all  means.  I  know  father  would  ap 
prove  it." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

CUT   OFF. 

IT  was  after  ten  o'clock  when  the  waning  moon 
came  peering  over  the  barrier  ridge  at  the  east.  Over 
an  hour  had  passed  since  Sergeant  Wells,  on  his  big 
sorrel,  had  ridden  away  up  the  stream  on  the  trail  to 
Farron's. 

Phillips  had  pressed  upon  him  a  Henry  repeating 
rifle,  which  he  had  gratefully  accepted.  It  could  not 
shoot  so  hard  or  carry  so  far  as  the  sergeants  Spring 
field  carbine,  the  cavalry  arm ;  but  to  repel  a  sudden 
onset  of  yelling  savages  at  close  quarters  it  was  just 
the  thing,  as  it  could  discharge  sixteen  shots  without 
reloading.  His  carbine  and  the  belt  of  copper  car 
tridges  the  sergeant  left  with  Ralph. 

Just  before  riding  away  he  took  the  operator  and 
Ralph  to  the  back  of  the  corral,  whence,  far  up  the 
valley,  they  could  see  the  twinkling  light  at  Farron'a 
ranch. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  "  THE  POINT."         73 

"  We  ought  to  have  some  way  of  signalling,"  he  had 
said  as  they  went  out  of  doors.  "  If  you  get  news 
during  the  night  that  the  Indians  are  surely  this  side 
of  the  Platte,  of  course  we  want  to  know  at  once ;  if, 
on  the  other  hand,  you  hear  they  are  nowhere  within 
striking  distance,  it  will  be  a  weight  off  my  mind  and 
we  can  all  get  a  good  night's  rest  up  there.  Now,  how 
shall  we  fix  it?" 

After  some  discussion,  it  was  arranged  that  Wells 
should  remain  on  the  low  porch  in  front  of  Farron's 
ranch  until  midnight.  The  light  was  to  be  extin 
guished  there  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  as  an  assurance 
that  all  was  well,  and  it  should  not  again  appear 
during  the  night  unless  as  a  momentary  answer  to 
signals  they  might  make. 

If  information  were  received  at  Phillips's  that  the 
Indians  were  south  of  the  Platte,  Ralph  should  fire 
three  shots  from  his  carbine  at  intervals  of  five  seconds ; 
and  if  they  heard  that  all  was  safe,  he  should  fire  one 
shot  to  call  attention  and  then  start  a  small  blaze  out 
on  the  bank  of  the  stream,  where  it  could  be  plainly 
seen  from  Farron's. 

Wells  was  to  show  his  light  half  a  minute  when  he 
recognized  the  signal.  Having  arrived  at  this  under 
standing,  the  sergeant  shook  the  hand  of  Ralph  and 
the  operator  and  rode  towards  Farron's. 

"What  I  wish,"  said  the  operator,  "is  that  Wells 
could  induce  Farron  to  let  him  bring  Jessie  here  for 
the  night;  but  Farron  is  a  bull-headed  fellow  and 
thinks  no  number  of  Indians  could  ever  get  the  better 
of  him  and  his  two  men.  He  knows  very  little  of 
them  and  is  hardly  alive  to  the  danger  of  his  position 


74  WELL    WON;    OR, 

I  think  he  will  be  safe  with  Wells,  but,  all  the  same,  1 
wish  that  a  troop  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  had  been  sent 
forward  to-night." 

After  they  had  gone  back  to  the  office  the  operator 
"called  up'7  Lararnie.  "All  quiet,"  was  the  reply, 
and  nobody  there  seemed  to  think  the  Indians  had 
come  towards  the  Platte. 

Then  the  operator  signalled  to  his  associate  at  Lodge 
Pole,  who  wired  back  that  nobody  there  had  heard  any 
thing  from  Laramie  or  elsewhere  about  the  Indians ; 
that  the  colonel  and  one  or  two  of  his  officers  had  been 
in  the  station  a  wlme  during  the  evening  and  had  sent 
messages  to  Cheyenne  and  Omaha  and  received  one  or 
two,  but  that  they  had  all  gone  out  to  camp.  Every 
thing  was  quiet;  "taps"  had  just  sounded  and  they 
were  all  going  to  bed. 

"  Lodge  Pole"  announced  for  himself  that  some  old 
friends  of  his  were  on  the  guard  that  night,  and  he  was 
going  over  to  smoke  a  pipe  and  have  a  chat  with  them. 

To  this  "Chug"  responded  that  he  wished  he 
wouldn't  leave  the  office.  There  was  no  telling  what 
might  turn  up  or  how  soon  he'd  be  wanted. 

But  "  Lodge  Pole"  said  the  operators  were  not  re 
quired  to  stay  at  the  board  after  nine  at  night;  he 
would  have  the  keeper  of  the  station  listen  for  his  call, 
and  would  run  over  to  camp  for  an  hour ;  would  be 
back  at  half-past  ten  and  sleep  by  his  instrument. 
Meantime,  if  needed,  he  could  be  called  in  a  minute, — 
the  guard  tents  were  only  three  hundred  yards  away, — 
and  so  he  went. 

E-alph  almost  wished  that  he  had  sent  a  message  to 
the  colonel  to  tell  him  of  their  suspicions  and  anxiety. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO   "  THE  POINT."         75 

He  knew  well  that  every  officer  and  every  private  in 
that  sleeping  battalion  would  turn  out  eagerly  and  wel 
come  the  twenty-five-mile  trot  forward  to  the  Chug  on 
the  report  that  the  Sioux  were  out  "  on  the  war-path" 
and  might  be  coming  that  way. 

Yet,  army  boy  that  he  was,  he  hated  to  give  what 
might  be  called  a  false  alarm.  He  knew  the  Fifth 
only  by  reputation,  and  while  he  would  not  have  hesi 
tated  to  send  such  a  message  to  his  father  had  he  been 
camped  at  Lodge  Pole,  or  to  his  father's  comrades  in 
their  own  regiment,  he  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  send 
ing  a  despatch  that  would  rout  the  colonel  out  of  his 
warm  blankets,  and  which  might  be  totally  unneces 
sary. 

So  the  telegraph  operator  at  Lodge  Pole  was  per 
mitted  to  go  about  his  own  devices,  and  once  again 
Ralph  and  his  new  friend  went  out  into  the  night  to 
look  over  their  surroundings  and  the  situation. 

The  light  still  burned  at  Farron's,  and  Phillips, 
coming  out  with  a  bundle  of  kindling-wood  for  the 
little  beacon  fire,  chuckled  when  he  saw  it, — 

"  Wells  must  be  there  by  this  time,  but  I'll  just  bet 
Farron  is  giving  the  boys  a  little  supper,  or  something, 
to  welcome  Jessie  home,  and  now  he's  got  obstinate  and 
won't  let  them  douse  the  glim." 

"  It's  a  case  that  Wells  will  be  apt  to  decide  for  him 
self,"  answered  Ralph.  "He  won't  stand  fooling,  and 
will  declare  martial  law. — There !  What  did  I  tell 
you?" 

The  light  went  suddenly  out  in  the  midst  of  his 
words.  They  carried  the  kindling  and  made  a  little 
heap  of  dry  sticks  out  near  the  bank  of  the  stream ; 


76  WELL    WON;   OR, 

then  stood  a  while  and  listened.  In  the  valley,  faintly 
lighted  by  the  moon,  all  was  silence  and  peace ;  not 
even  the  distant  yelp  of  coyote  disturbed  the  stillness 
of  the  night.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring.  A 
light  film  of  cloud  hung  about  the  horizon  and  settled 
in  a  cumulus  about  the  turrets  of  old  Laramie  Peak, 
but  overhead  the  brilliant  stars  sparkled  and  the  planets 
shone  like  little  globes  of  molten  gold. 

Hearing  voices,  Buford,  lonely  now  without  his  friend, 
the  sergeant's  horse,  set  up  a  low  whinny,  and  Ralph 
went  in  and  spoke  to  him,  patting  his  glossy  neck  and 
shoulder.  When  he  came  out  he  found  that  a  third 
man  had  joined  the  party  and  was  talking  eagerly  with 
Phillips. 

Ralph  recognized  the  man  as  an  old  trapper  who  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  the  hills  or  farther  up  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Laramie  Peak.  He  had  often  been  at  the 
fort  to  sell  peltries  or  buy  provisions,  and  was  a  moun 
taineer  and  plainsman  who  knew  every  nook  and 
cranny  in  Wyoming. 

Cropping  the  scant  herbage  on  the  flat  behind  the 
trapper  was  a  lank,  long-limbed  horse  from  which  he 
had  just  dismounted,  and  which  looked  travel-stained 
and  weary  like  his  master.  The  news  the  man  brought 
was  worthy  of  consideration,  and  Ralph  listened  with 
rapt  attention  and  with  a  heart  that  beat  hard  and 
quick,  though  he  said  no  word  and  gave  no  sign. 

"  Then  you  haven't  seen  or  heard  a  thing  ?"  asked 
the  new-comer.  "  It's  mighty  strange.  I've  scoured 
these  hills — man  and  boy — nigh  onto  thirty  years  and 
ought  to  know  Indian  smokes  when  I  see  'em.  I  don't 
think  I  can  be  mistaken  about  this.  I  was  way  up  the 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO   "  THE   POINT."         77 

range  about  four  o'clock  this  afternoon  and  could  see 
clear  across  towards  Rawhide  Butte,  and  three  smokes 
went  up  over  there,  sure.  What  startled  me,"  the 
trapper  continued,  "  was  the  answer.  Not  ten  miles 
above  where  I  was  there  went  up  a  signal  smoke  from 
the  foot-hills  of  the  range, — -just  in  here  to  the  north 
west  of  us,  perhaps  twenty  miles  west  of  Eagle's  Nest. 
It's  the  first  time  I've  seen  Indian  smokes  in  there  .since 
the  month  they  killed  Lieutenant  Robinson  up  by  the 
peak.  You  bet  I  came  down.  Sure  they  haven't  seen 
anything  at  Laramie  ?" 

"Nothing.  They  sent  Captain  McCrea  with  his 
troop  up  towards  Rawhide  just  after  dark,  but  they 
declare  nothing  has  been  seen  or  heard  of  Indians  this 
side  of  the  Platte.  I've  been  talking  with  Laramie 
most  of  the  evening.  The  Black  Hills  stage  coming 
down  reported  trail  of  a  big  war  party  out,  going  west 
just  this  side  of  the  Butte,  and  some  of  them  may 
have  sent  up  the  smokes  you  saw  in  that  direction.  I 
was  saying  to  Ralph,  here,  that  if  that  trail  was  forty- 
eight  hours  old,  they  would  have  had  time  to  cross  the 
Platte  at  Bull  Bend,  and  be  down  here  to-night." 

"  They  wouldn't  come  here  first.  They  know  this 
ranch  too  well.  They'd  go  in  to  Eagle's  Nest  to  try 
and  get  the  stage  horses  and  a  scalp  or  two  there. 
You're  too  strong  for  'em  here." 

"Ay;  but  there's  Farron  and  his  little  kid  up 
there  four  miles  above  us." 

"  You  don't  tell  me !  Thought  he'd  taken  her  down 
to  Denver." 

"  So  he  did,  and  fetched  her  back  to-day.  Sergeant 
Wells  has  g^ne  up  there  to  keep  watch  with  them,  and 

7* 


78  WELL    WON;   OR, 

we  are  to  signal  if  we  get  important  news.  All  you 
tell  me  only  adds  to  what  we  suspected.  How  I  wish 
we  had  known  it  an  hour  ago !  Now,  will  you  stay 
here  with  us  or  go  up  to  Farron's  and  tell  Wells  what 
you've  seen  ?" 

"  I'll  stay  here.  My  horse  can't  make  another  mi!e 
and  you  may  believe  I  don't  want  any  prowling  round 
outside  of  a  stockade  this  night.  No,  if  you  can  signal 
to  him  go  ahead  and  do  it." 

"  What  say  you,  Ralph  ?" 

Ralph  thought  a  moment  in  silence.  If  he  fired  his 
three  shots,  it  meant  that  the  danger  was  imminent, 
and  that  they  had  certain  information  that  the  Indians 
were  near  at  hand.  He  remembered  to  have  heard  his 
father  and  other  officers  tell  of  sensational  stories  this 
same  old  trapper  had  inflicted  on  the  garrison.  Ser 
geant  Wells  himself  used  to  laugh  at  "  Baker's  yarns." 
More  than  once  the  cavalry  had  been  sent  out  to  where 
Baker  asserted  he  had  certainly  seen  a  hundred  Indians 
the  day  before,  only  to  find  that  not  even  the  vestige 
of  a  pony  track  remained  on  the  yielding  sod.  If  he 
fired  the  signal  shots  it  meant  a  night  of  vigil  for  every 
body  at  Farron's  and  then  how  Wells  would  laugh  at 
him  in  the  morning,  and  how  disgusted  he  would  be 
when  he  found  that  it  was  entirely  on  Baker's  assur 
ances  that  he  had  acted  ! 

It  was  a  responsible  position  for  the  boy.  He  would 
much  have  preferred  to  mount  Buford  and  ride  off  over 
the  four  miles  of  moonlit  prairie  to  tell  the  sergeant  of 
Baker's  report  and  let  him  be  the  judge  of  its  authen 
ticity.  It  was  lucky  he  had  that  level-headed  soldier 
operator  to  advise  him.  Already  he  had  begun  to 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT."          79 

fancy  him  greatly,  and  to  respect  bis  judgment  and 
intelligence. 

"  Suppose  we  go  in  and  stir  up  Laramie,  and  tell 
them  what  Mr.  Baker  says,"  he  suggested ;  and, 
leaving  the  trapper  to  stable  his  jaded  horse  under 
Phillips's  guidance,  Ralph  and  his  friend  once  more 
returned  to  the  station. 

"  If  the  Indians  are  south  of  the  Platte,"  said  the 
operator,  "  I  shall  no  longer  hesitate  about  sending  a 
despatch  direct  to  the  troops  at  Lodge  Pole.  The 
colonel  ought  to  know.  He  can  send  one  or  two  com 
panies  right  along  to-night.  There  is  no  operator  at 
Eagle's  Nest,  or  I'd  have  him  up  and  ask  if  all  was 
well  there.  That's  what  worries  me,  Ralph.  It  was 
back  of  Eagle's  Nest  old  Baker  says  he  saw  their 
smokes,  and  it  is  somewhere  about  Eagle's  Nest  that  I 
should  expect  the  rascals  to  slip  in  and  cut  our  wire. 
I'll  bet  they're  all  asleep  at  Laramie  by  this  time. 
What  o'clock  is  it?" 

The  boy  stopped  at  the  window  of  the  little  tele 
graph  room  where  the  light  from  the  kerosene  lamp 
would  fall  upon  his  watch-dial.  The  soldier  passed 
on  around  to  the  door.  Glancing  at  his  watch,  Ralph 
followed  on  his  track  and  got  to  the  door- way  just  as 
his  friend  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  touch  the  key. 

"  It's  just  ten-fifty  now." 

"  Ten-fifty,  did  you  say?"  asked  the  soldier,  glancing 
over  his  shoulder.  "  Ralph  !"  he  cried,  excitedly,  "  the 
wire's  cut  /" 

«  Where  ?"  gasped  Ralph.     "  Can  you  tell  ?" 

"  No,  somewhere  up  above  us, — near  the  Nest,  prob 
ably, — though  who  can  tell?  It  maybe  just  round  the 


80  WELL    WON;    OR, 

bend  of  the  road,  for  all  we  know.  No  doubt  about 
there  being  Indians  now,  Ralph,  give  'em  your  signal. 
Hullo!  Hoofs!" 

Leaping  out  from  the  little  tenement,  the  two  listened 
intently.  An  instant  before  the  thunder  of  horse's  feet 
upon  wooden  planking  had  been  plainly  audible  in  the 
distance,  and  now  the  coming  clatter  could  be  heard  on 
the  roadway. 

Phillips  and  Baker,  who  had  heard  the  sounds,  joined 
them  at  the  instant.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  a  panting 
horse  ;  a  shadowy  rider  loomed  into  sight  up  the  road, 
and  in  another  moment  a  young  ranchman  galloped  up 
to  the  very  doors. 

"  All  safe,  fellows  ?  Thank  goodness  for  that !  I've 
had  a  ride  for  it,  and  we're  dead  beat.  Indians? 
Why,  the  whole  country's  alive  with  'em  between  here 
and  Hunton's.  I  promised  I'd  go  over  to  Farron's  if 
they  ever  came  around  that  way,  but  they  may  beat  me 
there  yet.  How  many  men  have  you  here  ?" 

"  Seven  now,  counting  Baker  and  Ralph  ;  but  I'll 
wire  right  back  to  Lodge  Pole  and  let  the  Fifth  Cav 
alry  know.  Quick,  Ralph,  give  'em  your  signal  now  !" 

Ralph  seized  his  carbine  and  ran  out  on  the  prairie 
behind  the  corral,  the  others  eagerly  following  him  to 
note  the  effect.  Bang  !  went  the  gun  with  a  resounding 
roar  that  echoed  from  the  cliffs  at  the  east  and  came 
thundering  back  to  them  just  in  time  to  "  fall  in"  be 
hind  two  other  ringing  reports  at  short,  five-second 
intervals. 

Three  times  the  flash  lighted  up  the  faces  of  the  little 
party;  set  and  stern  and  full  of  pluck  they  were. 
Then  all  eyes  were  turned  to  the  dark,  shadowy,  low- 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO   "  THE  POINT.11         81 

lying  objects  far  up  the  stream,  the  roofs  of  Farron's 
threatened  ranch. 

Full  half  a  minute  they  watched,  hearts  beating  high, 
breath  coming  thick  and  fast,  hands  clinching  in  the 
intensity  of  their  anxiety. 

Then,  hurrah  !  Faint  and  flickering  at  first,  then 
shining  a  few  seconds  in  clear,  steady  beam,  the  ser 
geant's  answering  signal  streamed  out  upon  the  night,  a 
calm,  steadfast,  unwavering  response,  resolute  as  the 
spirit  of  its  soldier  sender,  and  then  suddenly  disappeared. 

"  He's  all  right !"  said  Ralph,  joyously,  as  the  young 
ranchman  put  spurs  to  his  panting  horse  and  rode  off 
to  the  west.  "  Now,  what  about  Lodge  Pole  ?" 

Just  as  they  turned  away  there  came  a  sound  far  out 
on  the  prairie  that  made  them  pause  and  look  wonder- 
ingly  a  moment  in  one  another's  eyes.  The  horseman 
had  disappeared  from  view.  They  had  watched  him 
until  he  had  passed  out  of  sight  in  the  dim  distance. 
The  hoof-beats  of  his  horse  had  died  away  before  they 
turned  to  go. 

Yet  now  there  came  the  distant  thunder  of  an  hun 
dred  hoofs  bounding  over  the  sod. 

Out  from  behind  a  jutting  spur  of  a  bluff  a  horde 
of  shadows  sweep  forth  upon  the  open  prairie  towards 
the  trail  on  which  the  solitary  rider  has  disappeared. 
Here  and  there  among  them  swift  gleams,  like  silver 
streaks,  are  plainly  seen,  as  the  moonbeams  glint  on 
armlet  or  bracelet,  or  the  nickel  plating  on  their  gaudy 
trappings. 

Then  see !  a  ruddy  flash !  another !  another !  the 
muffled  bang  of  fire-arms,  and  the  vengeful  yell  and 
whoops  of  savige  foeman  float  down  to  the  breathless 


82  WELL    WON;   OR, 

listeners  at  the  station  on  the  Chug.  The  Sioux  are 
here  in  full  force,  and  a  score  of  them  have  swept 
down  on  that  brave,  hapless,  helpless  fellow  riding 
through  the  darkness  alone. 

Phillips  groaned.  "Oh,  why  did  we  let  him  go? 
Quick,  now !  Every  man  to  the  ranch,  and  you  get 
word  to  Lodge  Pole,  will  you?" 

"Ay,  ay,  and  fetch  the  whole  Fifth  Cavalry  here 
at  a  gallop !" 

But  when  Ralph  ran  into  the  telegraph  station  a 
moment  later,  he  found  the  operator  with  his  head 
bowed  upon  his  arms  and  his  face  hidden  from  view. 

"  What's  the  matter,— quick  ?"  demanded  Ralph. 

It  was  a  ghastly  face  that  was  raised  to  the  boy,  as 
the  operator  answered, — 

"It — it's  all  my  fault.  I've  waited  too  long. 
They've  cut  the  line  behind  us  !" 


CHAPTER   V. 

AT  FARRON'S  RANCH. 

WHEN  Sergeant  Wells  reached  Farron's  ranch  that 
evening  little  Jessie  was  peacefully  sleeping  in  the 
room  that  had  been  her  mother's.  The  child  was  tired 
after  the  long,  fifty- mile  drive  from  Russell,  and  had 
been  easily  persuaded  to  go  to  bed. 

Farron  himself,  with  the  two  men  who  worked  for 
him,  was  having  a  sociable  smoke  and  chat,  and  the 
three  were  not  a  little  surprised  at  Wells's  coming  and 
the  unwelcome  news  he  bore.  The  ranchman  was  one 


FROM  THE   PLAINS   TO  "  THE  POINT."         83 

of  the  best-hearted  fellows  in  the  world,  but  he  had  a 
few  infirmities  of  disposition  and  one  or  two  little 
conceits  that  sometimes  marred  his  better  judgment. 
Having  lived  in  the  Chug  Valley  a  year  or  two  before 
the  regiment  came  there,  he  had  conceived  it  to  be  his 
prerogative  to  adopt  a  somewhat  patronizing  tone  to 
its  men,  and  believed  that  he  knew  much  more  about 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Sioux  than  they  could 
possibly  have  learned. 

The  Fifth  Cavalry  had  been  stationed  not  far  from 
the  Chug  Valley  when  he  first  came  to  the  country, 
and  afterwards  were  sent  out  to  Arizona  for  a  five- 
years'  exile.  It  was  all  right  for  the  Fifth  to  claim 
acquaintance  with  the  ways  of  the  Sioux,  Farron  ad 
mitted,  but  as  for  these  fellows  of  the  — th, — that  was 
another  thing.  It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  him  that 
the  guarding  of  the  neighboring  reservations  for  about 
five  years  had  given  the  new  regiment  opportunities  to 
study  and  observe  these  Indians  that  had  not  been  ac 
corded  to  him. 

Another  element  which  he  totally  overlooked  in  com 
paring  the  relative  advantages  of  the  two  regiments 
was  a  very  important  one  that  radically  altered  the 
whole  situation.  When  the  Fifth  was  on  duty  watch 
ing  the  Sioux,  it  was  just  after  breech-loading  rifles 
had  been  introduced  into  the  army,  and  before  they  had 
been  introduced  among  the  Sioux. 

Through  the  mistaken  policy  of  the  Indian  Bureau 
at  Washington  this  state  of  affairs  was  now  changed 
and,  for  close  fighting,  the  savages  were  better  armed 
than  the  troops.  Nearly  every  warrior  had  either  a 
magazine  rifle  or  a  breech-loader,  and  many  of  them 


84  WELL    WON;  OR, 

had  two  revolvers  besides.  Thus  armed,  the  Sioux 
were  about  ten  times  as  formidable  as  they  had  been 
before,  and  the  task  of  restraining  them  was  far  more 
dangerous  and  difficult  than  it  had  been  when  the  Fifth 
guarded  them. 

The  situation  demanded  greater  vigilance  and  closer 
study  than  in  the  old  days,  and  Farron  ought  to  have 
had  sense  enough  to  see  it.  But  he  did  not.  He  had 
lived  near  the  Sioux  so  many  years ;  these  soldiers  had 
been  near  them  so  many  years  less ;  therefore  they  must 
necessarily  know  less  about  them  than  he  did.  He 
did  not  take  into  account  that  it  was  the  soldiers'  busi 
ness  to  keep  eyes  and  ears  open  to  everything  relating 
to  the  Indians,  while  the  information  which  he  had 
gained  came  to  him  simply  as  diversion,  or  to  satisfy 
his  curiosity. 

So  it  happened  that  when  Wells  came  in  that  night 
and  told  Farron  what  was  feared  at  Phillips's,  the 
ranchman  treated  his  warning  with  good-humored  but 
rather  contemptuous  disregard. 

"  Phillips  gets  stampeded  too  easy,"  was  the  way  he 
expressed  himself,  "  and  when  you  fellows  of  the  Mus 
tangs  have  been  here  as  long  as  I  have  you'll  get  to 
know  these  Indians  better.  Even  if  they  did  come, 
Pete  and  Jake  here,  and  I,  with  our  Henry  rifles,  could 
stand  off  fifty  of  'em.  Why,  we've  done  it  many  a 
time." 

"  How  long  ago  ?"  asked  the  sergeant,  quietly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It  was  before  you  fellows 
came.  Why,  you  don't  begin  to  know  anything  about 
these  Indians  !  You  never  see  'em  here  nowadays,  but 
when  I  first  came  here  to  the  Chug  there  wasn't  a  week 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  «  THE  POINT."         85 

they  didn't  raid  us.  They  haven't  shown  up  in  three 
years,  except  just  this  spring  they've  run  off  a  little 
stock.  But  you  never  see  'em." 

"  You  may  never  see  them,  Farron,  but  we  do, — see 
them  day  in  and  day  out  as  we  scout  around  the  reser 
vation  ;  and  while  I  may  not  know  what  they  were  ten 
years  ago,  I  know  what  they  are  now,  and  that's  more 
to  the  purpose.  You  and  Pete  might  have  stood  off  a 
dozen  or  so  when  they  hadn't  '  Henrys'  and  '  Win 
chesters'  as  they  have  now,  but  you  couldn't  do  it  to 
day,  and  it's  all  nonsense  for  you  to  talk  of  it.  Of 
course,  so  long  as  you  keep  inside  here  you  may  pick 
them  off,  but  look  out  of  this  window!  What's  to 
prevent  their  getting  into  your  corral  out  there,  and 
then  holding  you  here !  They  can  set  fire  to  your  roof 
over  your  head,  man,  and  you  can't  get  out  to  extin 
guish  it." 

"  What  makes  you  think  they've  spotted  me,  any 
how  ?"  asked  Farron. 

"  They  looked  you  over  the  last  time  they  came  up 
the  valley,  and  you  know  it.  Now,  if  you  and  the 
men  want  to  stay  here  and  make  a  fight  for  it,  all  right, 
— I'd  rather  do  that  myself,  only  we  ought  to  have 
two  or  three  men  to  put  in  the  corral, — but  here's  little 
Jessie.  Let  me  take  her  down  to  Phillips's ;  she's 
safe  there.  He  has  everything  ready  for  a  siege  and 
you  haven't." 

"  Why,  she's  only  just  gone  to  sleep,  Wells  ;  I  don't 
want  to  wake  her  up  out  of  a  warm  bed  and  send  her 
off  four  miles  a  chilly  night  like  this, — all  for  a  scare, 
too.  The  boys  down  there  would  laugh  at  me, — just 
after  bringing  her  b;re  from  Denver,  too." 

8 


86  WELL    WON;   OR, 

"  They're  not  laughing  down  there  this  night,  Farron, 
and  they're  not  the  kind  that  get  stampeded  either. 
Keep  Jessie,  if  you  say  so,  and  I'll  stay  through  the 
night;  but  I've  fixed  some  signals  with  them  down  at 
the  road  and  you've  got  to  abide  by  them.  They  can 
see  your  light  plain  as  a  beacon,  and  it's  got  to  go  out 
in  fifteen  minutes." 

Farron  had  begun  by  pooh-poohing  the  sergeant's 
views,  but  he  already  felt  that  they  deserved  serious 
consideration.  He  was  more  than  half  disposed  to 
adopt  Wells's  plan  and  let  him  take  Jessie  down  to  the 
safer  station  at  Phillips's,  but  she  looked  so  peaceful 
and  bonny,  sleeping  there  in  her  little  bed,  that  he 
could  not  bear  to  disturb  her.  He  was  ashamed,  too, 
of  the  appearance  of  yielding. 

So  he  told  the  sergeant  that  while  he  would  not  run 
counter  to  any  arrangement  he  had  made  as  to  signals, 
and  was  willing  to  back  him  up  in  any  project  for  the 
common  defence,  he  thought  they  could  protect  Jessie 
and  the  ranch  against  any  marauders  that  might  come 
along.  He  didn't  think  it  was  necessary  that  they 
should  all  sit  up.  One  man  could  watch  while  the 
others  slept. 

As  a  first  measure  Farron  and  the  sergeant  took  a 
turn  around  the  ranch.  Tho  house  itself  was  about 
thirty  yards  from  the  nearest  side  of  the  corral,  or  en 
closure,  in  which  Farron's  horses  were  confined.  In 
the  corral  were  a  little  stable,  a  wagon-shed,  and  a 
poultry-house.  The  back  windows  of  the  stable  were 
on  the  side  towards  the  house,  and  should  Indians  get 
possession  of  the  stable  they  could  send  fire-arrows,  if 
they  chose,  to  the  roof  of  the  house,  and  with  their  rifles 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  «  THE  POINT."         37 

shoot  down  any  persons  who  might  attempt  to  escape 
from  the  burning  building. 

This  fault  of  construction  had  long  since  been  pointed 
out  to  Farron,  but  the  man  who  called  his  attention  to 
it,  unluckily,  was  an  officer  of  the  new  regiment,  and 
the  ranchman  had  merely  replied,  with  a  self-satisfied 
smile,  that  he  guessed  he'd  lived  long  enough  in  that 
country  to  know  a  thing  or  two  about  the  Indians. 

Sergeant  Wells  shook  his  head  as  he  looked  at  the 
stable,  but  Farron  said  that  it  was  one  of  his  safe 
guards. 

"  I've  got  two  mules  in  there  that  can  smell  an  In 
dian  five  miles  off,  and  they'd  begin  to  bray  the  minute 
they  did.  That  would  wake  me  up,  you  see,  because 
their  heads  are  right  towards  me.  Now,  if  they  were 
way  across  the  corral  I  mightn't  hear  'em  at  all.  Then 
it's  close  to  the  house,  and  convenient  for  feeding  in 
winter.  Will  you  put  your  horse  in  to-night  ?" 

Sergeant  Wells  declined.  He  might  need  him,  he 
said,  and  would  keep  him  in  front  of  the  house  where 
he  was  going  to  take  his  station  to  watch  the  valley 
and  look  out  for  signals.  He  led  the  horse  to  the 
stream  and  gave  him  a  drink,  and  asked  Farron  to  lay 
out  a  hatful  of  oats.  "  They  might  come  in  handy  if 
I  have  to  make  an  early  start." 

However  lightly  Farron  might  estimate  the  danger, 
his  men  regarded  it  as  a  serious  matter.  Having  heard 
the  particulars  from  Sergeant  Wells,  their  first  care  was 
to  look  over  their  rifles  and  see  that  they  were  in  per 
fect  order  and  in  readiness  for  use.  When  at  last 
Farron  had  completed  a  leisurely  inspection  of  his 
corral  and  returned  to  the  house,  he  found  Wells  and 


88  WELL    WON;    OR, 

Pete  in  quiet  talk  at  the  front,  and  the  sergeant's  horse 
saddled  close  at  hand. 

"  Oh,  well !"  he  said,  "  if  you're  as  much  in  earnest 
as  all  that,  Til  bring  my  pipe  out  here  with  you,  and 
if  any  signal  should  come,  it'll  be  time  enough  then  to 
wake  Jessie,  wrap  her  in  a  blanket,  and  you  gallop  off 
to  Phillips's  with  her." 

And  so  the  watchers  went  on  duty.  The  light  in 
the  ranch  was  extinguished,  and  all  about  the  place 
was  as  quiet  as  the  broad,  rolling  prairie  itself.  Farron 
remained  wakeful  a  little  while,  then  said  he  was  sleepy 
and  should  go  in  and  lie  down  without  undressing. 
Pete,  too,  speedily  grew  drowsy  and  sat  down  on  the 
porch,  where  Wells  soon  caught  sight  of  his  nodding 
head  just  as  the  moon  came  peeping  up  over  the  distant 
crest  of  the  "  Buffalo  Hill." 

How  long  Farron  slept  he  had  no  time  to  ask,  for 
the  next  thing  he  knew  was  that  a  rude  hand  was 
shaking  his  shoulder,  and  Pete's  voice  said, — 

"  Up  with  you,  Farron  !  The  signal's  fired  at 
Phillips's.  Up  quick !" 

As  Farron  sprang  to  the  floor,  Pete  struck  a  light, 
and  the  next  minute  the  kerosene  lamp,  flickering  and 
sputtering  at  first,  was  shining  in  the  eastward  window. 
Outside  the  door  the  ranchman  found  Wells  tightening 
his  saddle-girths,  while  his  horse,  snorting  with  excite 
ment,  pricked  up  his  ears  and  gazed  down  the  valley. 

"  Who  fired  ?"  asked  Farron,  barely  awake. 

"  I  don't  know ;  Ralph  probably.  Better  get  Jessie 
for  me  at  once.  The  Indians  are  this  side  of  the  Platte 
sure,  and  they  may  be  near  at  hand.  I  don't  like  the 
way  Spot's  behaving, — see  how  excited  he  is.  I  don't 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO   "  THE  POINT."         89 

like  to  leave  you  short-handed  if  there's  to  be  trouble. 
If  there's  time  I'll  come  back  from  Phillips's.  Come, 
man !  Wake  Jessie." 

"  All  right.  There's  plenty  of  time,  though.  They 
must  be  miles  down  the  valley  yet.  If  they'd  come 
from  the  north ,  the  telegraph  would  have  given  warn 
ing  long  ago-.  And  Dick  Warner — my  brother-in-law, 
Jessie's  uncle — always  promised  he'd  be  down  to  tell 
me  first  thing,  if  they  came  any  way  that  he  could 
hear  of  it.  You  bet  he'll  be  with  us  before  morning, 
unless  they're  between  him  and  us  now." 

With  that  he  turned  into  the  house,  and  in  a  mo 
ment  reappeared  with  the  wondering,  sleepy-eyed,  half- 
wakened  little  maid  in  his  strong  arms.  Wells  was 
already  in  saddle,  and  Spot  was  snorting  and  prancing 
about  in  evident  excitement. 

"  I'll  leave  the  '  Henry'  with  Pete.  I  can't  carry  it 
and  Jessie,  too.  Hand  her  up  to  me  and  snuggle  her 
well  in  the  blanket." 

Farron  hugged  his  child  tight  in  his  arms  one  mo 
ment.  She  put  her  little  arms  around  his  neck  and 
clung  to  him,  looking  piteously  into  his  face,  yet  shed 
ding  no  tears.  Something  told  her  there  was  danger ; 
something  whispered  "  Indians !"  to  the  childish  heart ; 
but  she  stifled  her  words  of  fear  and  obeyed  her  father's 
wish. 

"  You  are  going  down  to  Phillips's  where  Ralph  is, 
Jessie,  darling.  Sergeant  Wells  is  going  to  carry  you. 
Be  good  and  perfectly  quiet.  Don't  cry,  don't  make  a 
particle  of  noise,  pet.  Whatever  you  do,  don't  make 
any  noise.  Promise  papa." 

As  bravely  as  she  had  done  when  she  waited  that 


yO  WELL    WON;    OR, 

day  at  the  station  at  Cheyenne,  the  little  woman  choked 
back  the  rising  sob.  She  nodded  obedience,  and  then 
put  up  her  bonny  face  for  her  father's  kiss.  Who  can 
tell  of  the  dread,  the  emotion  he  felt  as  he  clung  to  the 
trusting  little  one  for  that  short  moment  ? 

"God  guard  you,  my  baby,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
carefully  lifted  her  up  to  Wells,  who  circled  her  in  his 
strong  right  arm,  and  seated  her  on.  the  overcoat  that 
was  rolled  at  his  pommel. 

Farron  carefully  wrapped  the  blanket  about  her  tiny 
feet  and  legs,  and  with  a  prayer  on  his  lips  and  a  clasp 
of  the  sergeant's  bridle  hand  he  bade  him  go.  Another 
moment,  and  Wells  and  little  Jessie  were  loping  away 
on  Spot,  and  were  rapidly  disappearing  from  view  along 
the  dim,  moonlit  trail. 

For  a  moment  the  three  ranchmen  stood  watching 
them.  Far  to  the  northeast  a  faint  light  could  be  seen 
at  Phillips's,  and  the  roofs  and  walls  were  dimly  visi 
ble  in  the  rays  of  the  moon.  The  hoof-beats  of  old 
Spot  soon  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  all  seemed  as 
still  as  the  grave.  Anxious  as  he  was,  Farron  took 
heart.  They  stood  there  silent  a  few  moments  after 
the  horseman,  with  his  precious  charge,  had  faded  from 
view,  and  then  Farron  spoke, — 

"  They'll  make  it  all  safe.  If  the  Indians  were  any 
where  near  us  those  mules  of  mine  would  have  given 
warning  by  this  time." 

The  words  were  hardly  dropped  from  his  lips  when 
from  the  other  side  of  the  house — from  the  stable  at 
the  corral — there  came,  harsh  and  loud  and  sudden, 
the  discordant  bray  of  mules.  The  three  men  started 
as  if  stung. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "THE  POINT."         91 

"  Quick !  Pete.  Fetch  me  any  one  of  the  horses. 
I'll  gallop  after  him.  Hear  those  mules?  That  means 
the  Indians  are  close  at  hand !"  And  he  sprang  into 
the  house  for  his  revolvers,  while  Pete  flew  round  to 
the  stable. 

It  was  not  ten  seconds  before  Farron  reappeared  at 
the  front  door.  Pete  came  running  out  from  the  stable, 
leading  an  astonished  horse  by  the  snaffle.  There  was 
not  even  a  blanket  on  the  animal's  back,  or  time  to  put 
one  there. 

Farron  was  up  and  astride  the  horse  in  an  instant, 
but  before  he  could  give  a  word  of  instruction  to  his 
men,  there  fell  upon  their  ears  a  sound  that  appalled 
them, — the  distant  thunder  of  hundreds  of  bounding 
hoofs ;  the  shrill,  vengeful  yells  of  a  swarm  of  savage 
Indians;  the  crack!  crack!  of  rifles;  and,  far  down 
the  trail  along  which  Wells  had  ridden  but  a  few  mo 
ments  before,  they  could  see  the  flash  of  fire-arms. 

"O  God!  save  my  little  one!"  was  Farron's  ago 
nized  cry  as  he  struck  his  heels  to  his  horse's  ribs  and 
went  tearing  down  the  valley  in  mad  and  desperate 
ride  to  the  rescue. 

Poor  little  Jessie !     What  hope  to  save  her  now  ? 


92  WELL    WON:   OR. 

CHAPTER    VI. 

A   NIGHT  OF  PERIL. 

FOR  one  moment  the  telegraph  operator  was  stunned 
and  inert.  Then  his  native  pluck  and  the  never-say- 
die  spirit  of  the  young  American  came  to  his  aid.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  seized  his  rifle,  and  ran  out  to  join 
Phillips  and  the  few  men  who  were  busily  at  work 
barricading  the  corral  and  throwing  open  the  loop 
holes  in  the  log  walls. 

Ralph  had  disappeared,  and  no  one  knew  whither  he 
had  gone  until,  just  as  the  men  were  about  to  shut  the 
heavy  door  of  the  stable,  they  heard  his  young  voice 
'ring  cheerily  out  through  the  darkness, — 

"  Hold  on  there  !     Wait  till  Buford  and  I  get  out !" 

"Where  on  earth  are  you  going  ?"  gasped  Phillips, 
in  great  astonishment,  as  the  boy  appeared  in  the  door 
way,  leading  his  pet,  which  was  bridled  and  saddled. 

"  Going  ?  Back  to  Lodge  Pole,  quick  as  I  can,  to 
bring  up  the  cavalry." 

"  Ralph,"  said  the  soldier,  "  it  will  never  do.  Now 
that  Wells  is  gone  I  feel  responsible  for  you,  and  your 
father  would  never  forgive  me  if  anything  befell  you. 
We  can't  let  you  go  ?" 

Ralph's  eyes  were  snapping  with  excitement  and  his 
cheeks  were  flushed.  It  was  a  daring,  it  was  a  gallant, 
thought, — the  idea  of  riding  back  all  alone  through  a 
country  that  might  be  infested  by  savage  foes ;  but  if 
was  the  one  chance. 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT."         93 

Farron  and  Wells  and  the  men  might  be  able  to 
hold  out  a  few  hours  at  the  ranch  up  the  valley,  and 
keep  the  Indians  far  enough  away  to  prevent  their 
burning  them  out.  Of  course  the  ranch  could  not 
stand  a  long  siege  against  Indian  ingenuity,  but  six 
hours,  or  eight  at  the  utmost,  would  be  sufficient  time 
in  which  to  bring  rescue  to  the  inmates.  By  that  time 
he  could  have  an  overwhelming  force  of  cavalry  in  the 
valley,  and  all  would  be  safe. 

If  word  were  not  sent  to  them  it  would  be  noon  to 
morrow  before  the  advance  of  the  Fifth  would  reach 
the  Chug.  By  that  time  all  would  be  over  with 
Farron. 

Ralph's  brave  young  heart  almost  stopped  beating 
as  he  thought  of  the  hideous  fate  that  awaited  the 
occupants  of  the  ranch  unless  help  came  to  them.  He 
felt  that  nothing  but  a  light  rider  and  a  fast  horse  could 
carry  the  news  in  time.  He  knew  that  he  was  the 
lightest  rider  in  the  valley ;  that  Buford  was  the  fastest 
horse ;  that  no  man  at  the  station  knew  all  the  "  breaks" 
and  ravines,  the  ridges  and  "swales"  of  the  country 
better  than  he  did. 

Farron's  lay  to  the  southwest,  and  thither  probably 
all  the  Indians  were  now  riding.  He  could  gallop  off 
to  the  southeast,  make  a  long  detour,  and  so  reach 
Lodge  Pole  unseen.  If  he  could  get  there  in  two 
hours  and  a  half,  the  cavalry  could  be  up  and  away  in 
fifteen  minutes  more,  and  in  that  case  might  reach  the 
Chug  at  daybreak  or  soon  afterwards. 

One  thing  was  certain,  that  to  succeed  he  must  go 
instantly,  before  the  Indians  could  come  down  and  put 
a  watch  around  Phillips's. 


94  WELL    WON;   OR, 

Of  course  it  was  a  plan  full  of  fearful  risk.  He 
took  his  life  in  his  hands.  Death  by  the  cruelest  of 
tortures  awaited  him  if  captured,  and  it  was  a  prospect 
before  which  any  boy'and  many  a  man  might  shrink 
in  dismay. 

But  he  had  thought  of  little  Jessie ;  the  plan  and 
the  estimation  of  the  difficulties  and  dangers  attending 
its  execution  had  flashed  through  his  mind  in  less  than 
five  seconds,  and  his  resolution  was  instantly  made. 
He  was  a  soldier's  son,  was  Ralph,  and  saying  no  word 
to  any  one  he  had  run  to  the  stable,  saddled  and 
bridled  Buford,  and  with  his  revolver  at  his  hip  was 
ready  for  his  ride. 

"  It's  no  use  of  talking ;  Fm  going,"  was  all  he 
said.  "  I  know  how  to  dodge  them  just  as  well  as  any 
man  here,  and,  as  for  father,  he'd  be  ashamed  of  me 
if  I  didn't  go." 

Waiting  for  no  reply, — before  they  could  fully 
realize  what  he  meant, — the  boy  had  chirruped  to  his 
pawing  horse  and  away  they  darted  round  the  corner 
of  the  station,  across  the  moonlit  road,  and  then  east 
ward  down  the  valley. 

"  Phillips,"  exclaimed  the  soldier,  "  I  never  should 
have  let  him  go.  I  ought  to  have  gone  myself;  but 
he's  away  before  a  man  can  stop  him." 

"  You're  too  heavy  to  ride  that  horse,  and  there's 
none  other  here  to  match  him.  That  boy's  got  the 
•sense  of  a  plainsman  any  day,  I  tell  you,  and  he'll 
make  it  all  right.  The  Indians  are  all  up  the  valley 
and  we'll  hear  'em  presently  at  Farron's.  He's  keep 
ing  off  so  as  to  get  round  east  of  the  bluffs,  and  then 
he'll  strike  across  country  southward  and  not  try  for 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  "  THE  POINT."         95 

the  road  until  he's  eight  or  ten  miles  away.  Good  for 
Ralph  !  It's  a  big  thing  he's  doing,  and  his  father  will 
be  proud  of  him  for  it." 

But  the  telegraph  operator  was  heavy-hearted.  The 
men  were  all  anxious,  and  clustered  again  at  the  rear 
of  the  station.  All  this  had  taken  place  in  the  space 
of  three  minutes,  and  they  were  eagerly  watching  for 
the  next  demonstration  from  the  marauders. 

Of  the  fate  of  poor  Warner  there  could  be  little 
doubt.  It  was  evident  that  the  Indians  had  over 
whelmed  and  killed  him.  There  was  a  short  struggle 
and  the  rapidly  concentrating  fire  of  rifles  and  revolvers 
for  a  minute  or  two :  then  the  yells  had  changed  to 
triumphant  whoops,  and  then  came  silence. 

"  They've  got  his  scalp,  poor  fellow,  and  no  man 
could  lend  a  hand  to  help  him.  God  grant  they're  all 
safe  inside  up  there  at  Farron's,"  said  one  of  the  party ; 
it  was  the  only  comment  made  on  the  tragedy  that  had 
been  enacted  before  them. 

"Hullo!     What's  that?" 

"It's  the  flash  of  rifles  again.  They've  sighted 
Ralph  !"  cried  the  soldier. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Ralph's  off  here  to  the  eastward. 
They're  firing  and  chasing  up  the  valley.  Perhaps 
Warner  got  away  after  all.  Look  at  'em  !  See  !  The 
flashes  are  getting  farther  south  all  the  time !  They've 
headed  him  off  from  Farron's,  whoever  it  is,  and 
he's  making  for  the  road.  The  cowardly  hounds ! 
There's  a  hundred  of  'em,  I  reckon,  on  one  poor 
hunted  white  man,  and  here  we  are  with  our  hands 
tied!" 

For  a  few  minutes  more  the  sound  of  shots  and  yells 


96  WELL    WON;   OR, 

and  thundering  hoofs  came  vividly  through  the  stilj 
night  air.  All  the  time  it  was  drifting  away  south 
ward,  and  gradually  approached  the  road.  One  of  the 
ranchmen  begged  Phillips  to  let  him  have  a  horse  and 
go  out  in  the  direction  of  the  firing  to  reconnoitre  and 
Bee  what  had  happened,  but  it  would  have  been  mad 
ness  to  make  the  attempt,  and  the  request  was  met  with 
a  prompt  refusal. 

"  We  shall  need  every  man  here  soon  enough  at  the 
rate  things  are  going,"  was  the  answer.  "  That  may 
have  been  Warner  escaping,  or  it  may  have  been  one 
of  Farron's  men  trying  to  get  through  to  us  or  else 
riding  off  southward  to  find  the  cavalry.  Perhaps  it 
was  Sergeant  Wells.  Whoever  it  was,  they've  had  a 
two-  or  three-mile  chase  and  have  probably  got  him 
by  this  time.  The  firing  in  that  direction  is  all  over. 
Now  the  fun  will  begin  up  at  the  ranch.  Then  they'll 
come  for  us." 

"  It's  my  fault !"  groaned  the  operator.  "  What  a 
night, — and  all  my  fault !  I  ought  to  have  told  them 
at  Lodge  Pole  when  I  could." 

"Tell  them  what?"  said  Phillips.  "You  didn't 
know  a  thing  about  their  movements  until  Warner  got 
here !  What  could  you  have  said  if  you'd  had  the 
chance  ?  The  cavalry  can't  move  on  mere  rumors  or 
ideas  that  any  chance  man  has  who  comes  to  the  station 
in  a  panic.  It  has  just  come  all  of  a  sudden,  in  a  way 
we  couldn't  foresee. 

"  All  I'm  worrying  about  now  is  little  Jessie,  up 
there  at  Farron's.  I'm  afraid  Warner's  gone,  and 
possibly  some  one  else ;  but  if  Farron  can  only  hold 
out  against  these  fellows  until  daylight  I  think  he  and 


FROM   THE  PLAINS   TO   "  THE  POINT."         97 

his  little  one  will  be  safe.     Watch  here,  two  of  you, 
now,  while  I  go  back  to  the  house  a  moment." 

And  so,  arms  at  hand  and  in  breathless  silence,  the 
little  group  watched  and  waited.  All  was  quiet  at  the 
upper  ranch.  Farron's  light  had  been  extinguished 
soon  after  it  had  replied  to  the  signal  from  below,  but 
his  roofs  and  walls  were  dimly  visible  in  the  moonlight. 
The  distance  was  too  great  for  the  besiegers  to  be  dis 
cerned  if  any  were  investing  his  place. 

The  quiet  lasted  only  a  few  moments.  Then  sud 
denly  there  came  from  up  the  valley  and  close  around 
those  distant  roofs  the  faint  sound  of  rapid  firing. 
Paled  by  the  moonlight  into  tiny,  ruddy  flashes,  the 
flame  of  each  report  could  be  seen  by  the  sharper  eyes 
among  the  few  watchers  at  Phillips's.  The  attack  had 
indeed  begun  at  Farron's. 

One  of  the  men  ran  in  to  tell  the  news  to  Phillips, 
who  presently  came  out  and  joined  the  party.  No 
sign  of  Indians  had  yet  been  seen  around  them,  but 
as  they  crouched  there  by  the  corral,  eagerly  watching 
the  flashes  that  told  of  the  distant  struggle,  and  listen 
ing  to  the  sounds  of  combat,  there  rose  upon  the  air, 
over  to  the  northward  and  apparently  just  at  the  base 
of  the  line  of  bluffs,  the  yelps  and  prolonged  bark  of 
the  coyote.  It  died  away,  and  then,  far  on  to  the 
southward,  somewhere  about  the  slopes  where  the  road 
climbed  the  divide,  there  came  an  answering  yelp, 
shrill,  querulous,  and  prolonged. 

"  Know  what  that  is,  boys  ?"  queried  Phillips. 

"Coyotes,  I  s'pose,"  answered  one  of  the  men, — a 
comparatively  new  hand. 

"  Coyotes  are  scarce  in  this  neighborhood  nowadays, 
a       g  9 


98  WELL    WON;    OR, 

Those  are  Sioux  signals,  and  we  are  surrounded.  No 
man  in  this  crowd  could  get  out  now.  Ralph  ain't 
out  a  moment  too  soon.  God  speed  him  !  If  Farron 
don't  owe  his  life  and  little  Jessie's  to  that  boy's 
bravery,  it'll  be  because  nobody  could  get  to  them  in 
time  to  save  them.  Why  didn't  he  send  her  here  ?" 

Bad  as  was  the  outlook,  anxious  as  were  all  their 
hearts,  what  was  their  distress  to  what  it  would  have 
been  had  they  known  the  truth, — that  Warner  lay  only 
a  mile  up  the  trail,  stripped,  scalped,  gashed,  and  mu 
tilated!  Still  warm,  yet  stone  dead!  And  that  all 
alone,  with  little  Jessie  in  his  arms,  Sergeant  Wells 
had  ridden  down  that  trail  into  the  very  midst  of  the 
thronging  foe  !  Let  us  follow  him,  for  he  is  a  soldier 
who  deserves  the  faith  that  Farron  placed  in  him. 

For  a  few  moments  after  leaving  the  ranch  the  ser 
geant  rides  along  at  rapid  lope,  glancing  keenly  over 
the  broad,  open  valley  for  any  sign  that  might  reveal 
the  presence  of  hostile  Indians,  and  then  hopefully  at 
the  distant  light  at  the  station.  He  holds  little  Jessie 
in  firm  but  gentle  clasp,  and  speaks  in  fond  encourage 
ment  every  moment  or  two.  She  is  bundled  like  a 
pappoose  in  the  blanket,  but  her  big,  dark  eyes  look 
up  trustfully  into  his,  and  once  or  twice  she  faintly 
smiles.  All  seems  so  quiet ;  all  so  secure  in  the 
soldier's  strong  clasp. 

"That's  my  brave  little  girl!"  says  the  sergeant. 
"  Papa  was  right  when  he  told  us  down  at  Eussell  that 
he  had  the  pluckiest  little  daughter  in  all  Wyoming. 
It  isn't  every  baby  that  would  take  a  night  ride  with 
an  old  dragoon  so  quietly." 

He  bends  down  and  softly  kisses  the  thick,  curling 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  «  THE  POINT."         y<J 

hair  that  hangs  over  her  forehead.  Then  his  keen  eye 
again  sweeps  over  the  valley,  and  he  touches  his 
charger's  flank  with  the  spur. 

"  Looks  all  clear,"  he  mutters,  "  but  I've  seen  a  hun 
dred  Indians  spring  up  out  of  a  flatter  plain  than  that. 
They'll  skulk  behind  the  smallest  kind  of  a  ridge,  and 
not  show  a  feather  until  one  runs  right  in  among  them. 
There  might  be  dozens  of  them  off  there  beyond  the 
Chug  at  this  moment,  and  I  not  be  able  to  see  hair  or 
hide  of  'em." 

Almost  half  way  to  Phillips's,  and  still  all  is  quiet. 
Then  he  notes  that  far  ahead  the  low  ridge,  a  few  hun 
dred  yards  to  his  left,  sweeps  round  nearly  to  the  trail, 
and  dips  into  the  general  level  of  the  prairie  within 
short  pistol-shot  of  the  path  along  which  he  is  riding. 
He  is  yet  fully  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  the  place 
where  the  ridge  so  nearly  meets  the  trail,  but  it  is 
plainly  visible  now  in  the  silvery  moonlight. 

"  If  they  should  have  come  down,  and  should  be  all 
ranged  behind  that  ridge  now,  'twould  be  a  fearful 
scrape  for  this  poor  little  mite,"  he  thinks,  and  then, 
soldier-like,  sets  himself  to  considering  what  his  course 
should  be  if  the  enemy  were  suddenly  to  burst  upon 
him  from  behind  that  very  curtain. 

"Turn  and  run  for  it,  of  course!"  he  mutters. 
"  Unless  they  should  cut  me  off,  which  they  couldn't 
do  unless  some  of  'em  were  far  back  along  behind  the 
ridge.  Hullo  !  A  shadow  on  the  trail !  Coming  this 
way.  A  horseman.  That's  good !  They've  sent  out 
a  man  to  meet  me." 

The  sound  of  iron-shod  hoofs  that  came  faintly 
across  the  wide  distance  from  the  galloping  shadow 


100  WELL    WON;    OR, 

carried  to  the  sergeant's  practised  ear  the  assurance  that 
the  advancing  horseman  was  not  an  Indian.  After 
the  suspense  of  that  lonely  and  silent  ride,  in  the  midst 
of  unknown  dangers,  Wefts  felt  a  deep  sense  of  relief. 

"The  road  is  clear  between  here  and  Phillips's, 
that's  certain,"  he  thought.  "I'll  take  Jessie  on  to 
the  station,  and  then  go  back  to  Farron's.  I  wonder 
what  news  that  horseman  brings,  that  he  rides  so  hard." 

Still  on  came  the  horseman.  All  was  quiet,  and  it 
seemed  that  in  five  minutes  more  he  would  have  the 
news  the  stranger  was  bringing, — of  safety,  he  hoped. 
Jessie,  at  any  rate,  should  not  be  frightened  unless 
danger  came  actually  upon  them.  He  quickened  his 
horse's  gait,  and  looked  smilingly  down  into  Jessie's 
face. 

"It's  all  right,  little  one!  Somebody  is  coming  up 
the  trail  from  Phillips's,  so  everything  must  be  safe," 
he  told  her. 

Then  came  a  cruel  awakening.  Quick,  sudden, 
thrilling,  there  burst  upon  the  night  a  mad  chorus  of 
shouts  and  shots  and  the  accompaniment  of  thundering 
hoofs.  Out  from  the  sheltering  ridge  by  dozens,  gleam 
ing,  flashing  through  the  moonlight,  he  saw  the  war 
riors  sweep  down  upon  the  hapless  stranger  far  in 
front. 

He  reined  instantly  his  snorting  and  affrighted 
horse,  and  little  Jessie,  with  one  low  cry  of  terror, 
tried  to  release  her  arms  from  the  circling  blanket  and 
throw  them  about  his  neck;  but  he  held  her  tight. 
He  grasped  the  reins  more  firmly,  gave  one  quick 
glance  to  his  left  and  rear,  and,  to  his  dismay,  dis 
covered  that  he,  too,  was  well-nigh  hemmed  in ;  that, 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO   "THE  POINT."       1Q1 

swift  and  ruthless  as  the  flight  of  hawks,  a  dozen  war 
riors  were  bounding  over  the  prairie  towards  him,  to 
cut  off  his  escape. 

He  had  not  an  instant  to  lose.  He  whirled  his 
practised  troop  horse  to  the  right  about,  and  sent  him 
leaping  madly  through  the  night  back  for  Farron's 
ranch. 

Even  as  he  sped  along,  he  bent  low  over  his  charger's 
neck,  and,  holding  the  terror-stricken  child  to  his 
breast,  managed  to  speak  a  word  to  keep  up  her  courage. 

"  We'll  beat  them  yet,  my  bonny  bird  !"  he  muttered, 
though  at  that  instant  he  heard  the  triumphant  whoops 
that  told  him  a  scalp  was  taken  on  the  trail  behind 
him,  though  at  that  very  instant  he  saw  that  warriors, 
dashing  from  that  teeming  ridge,  had  headed  him ; 
that  he  must  veer  from  the  trail  as  he  neared  the 
ranch,  and  trust  to  Farron  and  his  men  to  drive  off  his 
pursuers. 

Already  the  yells  of  his  pursuers  thrilled  upon  the 
ear.  They  had  opened  fire,  and  their  wide-aimed 
bullets  went  whizzing  harmlessly  into  space.  His 
wary  eye  could  see  that  the  Indians  on  his  right  front 
were  making  a  wide  circle,  so  as  to  meet  him  when 
close  to  the  goal,  and  he  was  burdened  with  that  help 
less  child,  and  could  not  make  fight  even  for  his  own 
life. 

Drop  her  and  save  himself?  He  would  not  enter 
tain  the  thought.  No,  though  it  be  his  only  chance  to 
escape ! 

His  horse  panted  heavily,  and  still  there  lay  a  mile 
of  open  prairie  between  him  and  shelter ;  still  those 
bounding  ponies,  with  their  yelping,  screeching  riders, 

9* 


102  WELL    WON;    OR, 

were  fast  closing  upon  him,  when  suddenly  through 
the  dim  and  ghostly  light  there  loomed  another  shadow, 
wild  and  daring, — a  rider  who  came  towards  him  at 
full  speed. 

Because  of  the  daring  of  the  feat  to  ride  thus  alone 
into  the  teeth  of  a  dozen  foemen,  the  sergeant  was  sure, 
before  he  could  see  the  man,  that  the  approaching 
horseman  was  Farron,  rushing  to  the  rescue  of  his 
child. 

Wells  shouted  a  trooper's  loud  hurrah,  and  then, 
"  Rein  up,  Farron !  Halt  where  you  are,  and  open 
fire!  That'll  keep 'em  off!" 

Though  racing  towards  him  at  thundering  speed, 
Farron  heard  and  understood  his  words,  for  in  another 
moment  his  "  Henry"  was  barking  its  challenge  at  the 
foe,  and  sending  bullet  after  bullet  whistling  out  across 
the  prairie. 

The  flashing,  feather-streaming  shadows  swerved  to 
right  and  left,  and  swept  away  in  big  circles.  Then 
Farron  stretched  out  his  arms, — no  time  for  word  of 
any  kind, — and  Wells  laid  in  them  the  sobbing  child, 
and  seized  in  turn  the  brown  and  precious  rifle. 

"  Off  with  you,  Farron  !  Straight  for  home  now. 
I'll  keep  'era  back."  And  the  sergeant  in  turn  reined 
his  horse,  fronted  the  foe,  and  opened  rapid  fire,  though 
with  little  hope  of  hitting  horse  or  man. 

Disregarding  the  bullets  that  sang  past  his  ears,  h*« 
sent  shot  after  shot  at  the  shadowy  riders,  checked  now, 
and  circling  far  out  on  the  prairie,  until  once  more  he 
could  look  about  him,  and  see  that  Farron  had  reached 
the  ranch,  and  had  thrown  himself  from  his  horse. 

Then  slowly  he  turned  back,  fronting  now  and  then 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  «  THE  POINT."   1Q3 

to  answer  the  shots  that  came  singing  by  him,  and  to 
hurrah  with  delight  when,  as  the  Indians  came  within 
range  of  the  ranch,  its  inmates  opened  fire  on  them, 
and  a  pony  sent  a  yelping  rider  flying  over  his  head, 
as  he  stumbled  and  plunged  to  earth,  shot  through  the 
body. 

Then  Wells  turned  in  earnest  and  made  a  final  dash 
for  the  corral.  Then  his  own  good  steed,  that  had 
borne  them  both  so  bravely,  suddenly  wavered  and 
tottered  under  him.  He  knew  too  well  that  the  gallant 
horse  had  received  his  death-blow  even  before  he  went 
heavily  to  ground  within  fifty  yards  of  the  ranch. 

Wells  was  up  in  an  instant,  unharmed,  and  made  a 
rush,  stooping  low. 

Another  moment,  and  he  was  drawn  within  the  door 
way,  panting  and  exhausted,  but  safe.  He  listened 
with  amazement  to  the  outward  sounds  of  shots  and 
hoofs  and  yells  dying  away  into  the  distance  south 
ward. 

"What  on  earth  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"  It's  that  scoundrel,  Pete.  He's  taken  my  horse 
and  deserted !"  was  Farron's  breathless  answer.  "  I 
hope  they'll  catch  and  kill  him  !  I  despise  a  coward!" 


104  WELL    WON;   OR, 

CHAPTER    VII. 

THE   EESCUE. 

ALL  the  time,  travelling  at  rapid  lope,  but  at  the 
same  time  saving  Buford's  strength  for  sudden  emer 
gency,  Ralph  McCrea  rode  warily  through  the  night. 
He  kept  far  to  east  of  the  high  ridge  of  the  "  Buffalo 
Hill," — Who  knew  what  Indian  eyes  might  be  watch 
ing  there? — and  mile  after  mile  he  wound  among  the 
ravines  and  swales  which  he  had  learned  so  well  in  by 
gone  days  when  he  little  dreamed  of  the  value  that  his 
"  plainscraft"  might  be  to  him. 

For  a  while  his  heart  beat  like  a  trip-hammer ;  every 
echo  of  his  courser's  footfall  seemed  to  him  to  be  the 
rush  of  coming  warriors,  and  time  and  again  he  glanced 
nervously  over  his  shoulder,  dreading  pursuit.  But 
he  nevec  wavered  in  his  gallant  purpose. 

The  long  ridge  was  soon  left  to  his  right  rear,  and 
now  he  began  to  edge  over  towards  the  west,  intending 
in  this  way  to  reach  the  road  at  a  point  where  there 
would  lie  before  him  a  fifteen-mile  stretch  of  good 
"  going  ground."  Over  that  he  meant  to  send  Buford 
at  full  speed. 

Since  starting  he  had  heard  no  sound  of  the  fray ; 
the  ridge  and  the  distance  had  swallowed  up  the  clamor  ; 
but  he  knew  full  well  that  the  raiding  Indians  would 
do  their  utmost  this  night  to  burn  the  Farron  ranch  and 
kill  or  capture  its  inmates.  Every  recurring  thought 
of  the  peril  of  his  beleaguered  friends  prompted  him 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT."   1Q5 

to  spur  his  faithful  steed,  but  he  had  been  reared  in 
the  cavalry  and  taught  never  to  drive  a  willing  horse 
to  death. 

The  long,  sweeping,  elastic  strides  with  which  Buford 
bore  him  over  the  rolling  prairie  served  their  needs 
far  better  than  a  mad  race  of  a  mile  or  two,  ending 
in  a  complete  break-down,  would  have  done. 

At  last,  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  he  sighted  the 
hard-beaten  road  as  it  twisted  and  wound  over  the 
slopes,  and  in  a  few  moments  more  rode  beneath  the 
single  wire  of  the  telegraph  line,  and  then  gave  Buford 
a  gentle  touch  of  the  steel.  He  had  made  a  circuit  of 
ten  miles  or  more  to  reach  this  point,  and  was  now, 
he  judged,  about  seven  miles  below  the  station  and 
five  miles  from  Farron's  ranch. 

He  glanced  over  his  right  shoulder  and  anxiously 
searched  the  sky  and  horizon.  Intervening  "divides" 
shut  him  off  from  a  view  of  the  valley,  but  he  saw  that 
as  yet  no  glare  of  flames  proceeded  from  it. 

"Thus  far  the  defence  has  held  its  own,"  he  said, 
hopefully,  to  himself.  "Now,  if  Buford  and  I  can 
only  reach  Lodge  Pole  unmolested  there  may  yet  be 
time." 

Ascending  a  gentle  slope  he  reined  Buford  down  to 
a  walk,  so  that  his  pet  might  have  a  little  breathing 
spell.  As  he  arrived  at  the  crest  he  cast  an  eager 
glance  over  the  next  "  reach"  of  prairie  landscape,  and 
then — his  heart  seemed  to  leap  to  his  throat  and  a  chill 
wave  to  rush  through  his  veins. 

Surely  he  saw  a  horseman  dart  behind  the  low 
mound  off  to  the  west.  This  convinced  him  that  the 
Indians  had  discovered  and  pursued  him.  After  the 


106  WELL    WON;    OR, 

Indian  fashion  they  had  not  come  squarely  along  his 
trail  and  thus  driven  him  ahead  at  increased  speed,  but 
with  the  savage  science  of  their  warfare,  they  were 
working  past  him,  far  to  Ids  right,  intending  to  head 
him  off. 

To  his  left  front  the  country  was  clear,  and  he  could 
see  over  it  for  a  considerable  distance.  The  road,  after 
winding  through  some  intermediate  ravines  ahead, 
swept  around  to  the  left.  He  had  almost  determined 
to  leave  the  trail  and  make  a  bee-line  across  country, 
and  so  to  outrun  the  foernan  to  his  right,  when,  twice 
or  thrice,  he  caught  the  gleam  of  steel  or  silver  or 
nickel-plate  beyond  the  low  ground  in  the  very  direc 
tion  in  which  he  had  thought  to  flee. 

His  heart  sank  low  now,  for  the  sight  conveyed  to 
his  mind  but  one  idea, — that  the  gleams  were  the  flash 
ing  of  moonbeams  on  the  barbaric  ornaments  of  In 
dians,  as  he  had  seen  them  flash  an  hour  ago  when  the 
warriors  raced  forth  into  the  valley  of  the  Chug. 
Were  the  Indians  ahead  of  him  then,  and  on  both 
sides  of  the  road  ? 

One  thing  he  had  to  do,  and  to  do  instantly :  ride 
into  the  first  hollow  he  could  find,  dismount,  crawl  to 
the  ridge  and  peer  around  him, — study  which  way  to 
ride  if  he  should  have  to  make  a  race  for  his  own  life 
now, — and  give  Buford  time  to  gather  himself  for  the 
effort. 

The  boy's  brave  spirit  was  wrought  well-nigh  to  the 
limit.  His  eyes  clouded  as  he  thought  of  his  father 
and  the  faithful  troop,  miles  and  miles  away  and  all 
unconscious  of  his  deadly  peril;  of  his  anxious  and 
loving  mother,  wakeful  and  watching  at  Laramie, 


FROM   THE  PLAINS   TO   «  THE  POINT."       1Q7 

doubtless  informed  of  the  Indian  raid  by  this  time; 
powerless  to  help  him,  but  praying  God  to  watch  over 
her  boy. 

He  looked  aloft  at  the  starry  heavens  and  lifted  his 
heart  in  one  brief  prayer  :  "  God  guard  and  guide  me. 
I've  tried  to  do  my  duty  as  a  soldier's  son."  And 
somehow  he  felt  nerved  and  strengthened. 

He  grasped  the  handle  of  his  cavalry  revolver  as 
he  guided  Buford  down  to  the  right  where  there 
seemed  to  be  a  hollow  among  the  slopes.  Just  as  he 
came  trotting  briskly  round  a  little  shoulder  of  the 
nearest  ridge  there  was  a  rush  and  patter  of  hoofs  on 
the  other  side  of  it,  an  exclamation,  half-terror,  half- 
menace,  a  flash  and  a  shot  that  whizzed  far  over  his 
head.  A  dark,  shadowy  horseman  went  scurrying  off 
into  space  as  fast  as  a  spurred  and  startled  horse  could 
carry  him ;  a  broad-brimmed  slouch  hat  was  blown 
back  to  him  as  a  parting  souvenir,  and  Ralph  McCrea 
shouted  with  relief  and  merriment  as  he  realized  that 
some  man — a  ranchman  doubtless — had  taken  him  for 
an  Indian  and  had  "  stampeded,"  scared  out  of  his  wits. 

Ralph  dismounted,  picked  up  the  hat,  swung  him 
self  again  into  saddle,  and  with  rejoicing  heart  sped 
away  again  on  his  mission.  There  were  still  those 
suspicious  flashes  off  to  the  east  that  he  must  dodge, 
and  to  avoid  them  he  shaped  his  course  well  to  the 
west. 

Let  us  turn  for  a  moment  to  the  camp  of  the  cavalry 
down  in  Lodge  Pole  Valley.  We  have  not  heard  from 
them  since  early  evening  when  the  operator  announced 
his  intention  of  going  over  to  have  a  smoke  and  a  chat 
with  some  of  his  friends  on  guard. 


108  WELL    WON;    OR, 

"Taps,"  the  signal  to  extinguish  lights  and  go  to 
bed,  had  sounded  early  and,  so  far  as  the  operator  at 
Lodge  Pole  knew  when  he  closed  his  instrument,  the 
battalion  had  gladly  obeyed  the  summons. 

It  happened,  however,  that  the  colonel  had  been 
talking  with  one  of  his  most  trusted  captains  as  they 
left  the  office  a  short  time  before,  and  the  result  of 
that  brief  talk  was  that  the  latter  walked  briskly  away 
towards  the  bivouac  fires  of  his  troop  and  called  "  Ser 
geant  Stauffer !" 

A  tall,  dark-eyed,  bronzed  trooper  quickly  arose, 
dropped  his  pipe,  and  strode  over  to  where  his  captain 
stood  in  the  flickering  light,  and,  saluting,  "stood 
attention"  and  waited. 

"  Sergeant,  let  the  quartermaster-sergeant  and  six 
men  stay  here  to  load  our  baggage  in  the  morning. 
Mount  the  rest  of  the  troop  at  once,  without  any 
noise, — fully  equipped." 

The  sergeant  was  too  old  a  soldier  even  to  look  sur 
prised.  In  fifteen  minutes,  with  hardly  a  sound  of 
unusual  preparation,  fifty  horsemen  had  "led  into 
line,"  had  mounted,  and  were  riding  silently  off  north 
ward.  The  colonel  said  to  the  captain,  as  he  gave  him 
a  word  of  good-by, — 

"  I  don't  know  that  you'll  find  anything  out  of  the 
way  at  all,  but,  with  such  indications,  I  believe  it  best 
to  throw  forward  a  small  force  to  look  after  the  Chug 
Valley  until  we  come  up.  We'll  be  with  you  by 
dinner-time." 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  telegraph  operator,  breath 
less  and  excited,  rushed  into  the  colonel's  tent  and 
woke  him  with  the  news  that  his  wire  was  cut  up 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO  "  THE  POINT."       1Q9 

towards  the  Chug,  the  colonel  was  devoutly  thankful 
for  the  inspiration  that  prompted  him  to  send  "K" 
Troop  forward  through  the  darkness.  He  bade  his 
adjutant,  the  light-weight  of  the  officers  then  on  duty, 
take  his  own  favorite  racer,  Van,  and  speed  away 
on  the  trail  of  "  K"  Troop,  tell  them  that  the  line 
was  cut, — that  there  was  trouble  ahead ;  to  push  on 
lively  with  what  force  they  had,  and  that  two  more 
companies  would  he  hurried  to  their  support. 

At  midnight  "K"  Troop,  riding  easily  along  in  the 
moonlight,  had  travelled  a  little  over  half  the  distance 
to  Phillips's  ranch.  The  lieutenant,  who  with  two  or 
three  troopers  was  scouting  far  in  advance,  halted  at 
the  crest  of  a  high  ridge  over  which  the  road  climbs, 
and  dismounted  his  little  party  for  a  brief  rest  while 
he  went  up  ahead  to  reconnoitre. 

Cavalrymen  in  the  Indian  country  never  ride  into 
full  view  on  top  of  a  "divide77  until  after  some  one  of 
their  number  has  carefully  looked  over  the  ground 
beyond. 

There  was  nothing  in  sight  that  gave  cause  for  long 
inspection,  or  that  warranted  the  officer's  taking  out 
his  field-glasses.  He  could  see  the  line  of  hills  back 
of  the  Chugwater  Valley,  and  all  was  calm  and  placid. 
The  valley  itself  lay  some  hundreds  of  feet  below  his 
point  of  observation,  and  beginning  far  off  to  his  left 
ran  northeastward  until  one  of  its  branches  crossed 
the  trail  along  which  the  troop  was  riding. 

Returning  to  his  party,  the  lieutenant's  eye  was 
attracted,  for  the  fifth  or  sixth  time  since  they  had  left 
Lodge  Pole,  by  little  gleams  and  flashes  of  light  off  in 
the  distance,  and  he  muttered,  in  a  somewhat  dispar- 

10 


110  WELL    WON;   OR, 

aging    manner,  to  some  of  the  members  of   his  own 
troop, — 

"  Now,  what  the  dickens  can  those  men  be  carrying 
to  make  such  a  streak  as  that?  One  would  suppose 
that  Arizona  would  have  taken  all  the  nonsense  out  of 
'em,  but  that  glimmer  must  come  from  bright  bits  or 
buckles,  or  something  of  the  kind,  for  we  haven't  a 
sabre  with  us.  What  makes  those  little  flashes,  ser 
geant  ?"  he  asked,  impatiently. 

"  It's  some  of  the  tin  canteens,  sir.  The  cloth  is  all 
worn  off  a  dozen  of  'em,  and  when  the  moonlight 
strikes  'em  it  makes  a  flash  almost  like  a  mirror." 

"  Indeed  it  does,  and  would  betray  our  coming  miles 
away  of  a  moonlit  night.  We'll  drop  all  those  things 
at  Laramie.  Hullo !  Mount,  men,  lively  !" 

The  young  officer  and  his  party  suddenly  sprang  to 
saddle.  A  clatter  of  distant  hoofs  was  heard  rapidly 
approaching  along  the  hard-beaten  road.  Nearer, 
nearer  they  came  at  tearing  gallop.  The  lieutenant 
rode  cautiously  forward  to  where  he  could  peer  over 
the  crest. 

"Somebody  riding  like  mad!"  he  muttered.  " Hat- 
less  and  demoralized.  Who  comes  there  f  he  shouted 
aloud.  "  Halt,  whoever  you  are !" 

Pulling  up  a  panting  horse,  pale,  wide-eyed,  almost 
exhausted,  a  young  ranchman  rode  into  the  midst  of 
the  group.  It  was  half  a  minute  before  he  could  speak. 
When  at  last  he  recovered  breath,  it  was  a  marvellous 
tale  that  he  told. 

"The  Chug's  crammed  with  Indians.  They've 
killed  all  down  at  Phillips's,  and  got  all  around  Far- 
ron's, — hundreds  of  'em.  Sergeant  Wells  tried  to  run 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO   "  THE  POINT." 

a\vaj  with  Jessie,  but  they  cut  him  off,  and  he'd  have 
been  killed  and  Jessie  captured  but  for  me  and  Farron. 
We  charged  through  'em,  and  got  'era  back  to  the  ranch. 
Then  the  Indians  attacked  us  there,  and  there  was  only 
four  of  us,  and  some  one  had  to  cut  his  way  out.  Wells 
said  you  fellows  were  down  at  Lodge  Pole,  but  he  da'sn't 
trv  it.  I  had  to."  Here  "  Pete"  looked  important, 
and  gave  his  pistol-belt  a  hitch. 

"  I  must  V  killed  six  of  'em,"  he  continued.  "  Both 
my  revolvers  empty,  and  I  dropped  one  of  'em  on  the 
trail.  My  hat  was  shot  clean  off  my  head,  but  they 
missed  me,  and  I  got  through.  They  chased  me  every 
inch  of  the  way  up  to  a  mile  back  over  yonder.  I  shot 
the  last  one  there.  But  how  many  men  you  got  ?" 

"  About  fifty,"  answered  the  lieutenant.  "  We'll 
push  ahead  at  once.  You  guide  us." 

"  I  ain't  going  ahead  with  no  fifty.  I  tell  you  there's 
a  thousand  Indians  there.  Where's  the  rest  of  the 
regiment  ?" 

"  Back  at  Lodge  Pole.  Go  on,  if  you  like,  and  tell 
them  your  story.  Here's  the  captain  now." 

With  new  and  imposing  additions,  Pete  told  the  story 
a  second  time.  Barely  waiting  to  hear  it  through,  the 
captain's  voice  raug  along  the  eager  column, — 

"  Forward,  trot,  march  /" 

Away  went  the  troop  full  tilt  for  the  Chug,  while  the 
ranchman  rode  rearward  until  he  met  the  supporting 
squadron  two  hours  behind.  Ten  minutes  after  parting 
with  their  informant,  the  officers  of  "  K"  Troop,  well 
out  in  front  of  their  men,  caught  sight  of  a  daring 
horseman  sweeping  at  full  gallop  down  from  some  high 
bluffs  to  their  left  and  front. 


112  WELL    WON;   OR, 

"  Rides  like  an  Indian,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  but  no 
Sioux  would  come  down  at  us  like  that,  waving  a  hat, 
too.  By  Jupiter !  It's  Ralph  McCrea !  How  are  you, 
boy  ?  What's  wrong  at  the  Chug  ?" 

"Farron's  surrounded,  and  I  believe  Warner's 
killed  !"  said  Ralph,  breathless.  "  Thank  God,  you're 
here  so  far  ahead  of  where  I  expected  to  find  you ! 
We'll  get  there  in  time  now ;"  and  he  turned  his  panting 
horse  and  rode  eagerly  along  by  the  captain's  side. 

"And  you've  not  been  chased?  You've  seen 
nobody  ?"  was  the  lieutenant's  question. 

"  Nobody  but  a  white  man,  worse  scared  than  I  was, 
who  left  his  hat  behind  when  I  ran  upon  him  a  mile 
back  here." 

Even  in  the  excitement  and  urgent  haste  of  the 
moment,  there  went  up  a  shout  of  laughter  at  the  ex 
pense  of  Pete ;  but  as  they  reached  the  next  divide, 
and  got  another  look  well  to  the  front,  the  laughter 
gave  place  to  the  grinding  of  teeth  and  muttered  mal 
ediction.  A  broad  glare  was  in  the  northern  sky,  and 
smoke  and  flame  were  rolling  up  from  the  still  distant 
valley  of  the  Chug,  -and  now  the  word  was  "  Gallop !" 

Fifteen  minutes  of  hard,  breathless  riding  followed. 
Horses  snorted  and  plunged  in  eager  race  with  their 
fellows ;  officers  warned  even  as  they  galloped,  "  Steady, 
there !  Keep  back !  Keep  your  places,  men !" 
Bearded,  bright-eyed  troopers,  with  teeth  set  hard  to 
gether  and  straining  muscles,  grasped  their  ready  car 
bines,  and  thrust  home  the  grim  copper  cartridges.  On 
and  on,  as  the  flaring  beacon  grew  redder  and  fiercer 
ahead ;  on  and  on,  until  they  were  almost  at  the  valley's 
edge,  and  then  young  Ralph,  out  at  the  front  with  the 


FROM  THE  PLAINS   TO  "  THE  POINT.11       H3 

veteran  captain,  panted  to  him,  in  wild  excitement  that 
he  strove  manfully  to  control, — 

"  Now  keep  well  over  to  the  left,  captain  !  I  know 
the  ground  well.  It's  all  open.  We  can  sweep  down 
from  behind  that  ridge,  and  they'll  never  look  for  us  or 
think  of  us  till  we're  right  among  them.  Hear  them 
yell !" 

"  Ay,  ay,  Ralph !  Lead  the  way.  Ready  now, 
men  !"  He  turned  in  his  saddle.  "  Not  a  word  till  I 
order  l  Charge !'  Then  yell  all  you  want  to." 

Down  into  the  ravine  they  thunder ;  round  the  moon 
lit  slope  they  sweep ;  swift  they  gallop  through  the 
shadows  of  the  eastward  bluffs ;  nearer  and  nearer  they 
come,  manes  and  tails  streaming  in  the  night  wind ; 
horses  panting  hard,  but  never  flagging. 

Listen  !  Hear  those  shots  and  yells  and  war-whoops ! 
Listen  to  the  hideous  crackling  of  the  flames  !  Mark 
the  vengeful  triumph  in  those  savage  howls !  Already 
the  fire  has  leaped  from  the  sheds  to  the  rough  shin 
gling.  The  last  hope  of  the  sore-besieged  is  gone. 

Then,  with  sudden  blare  of  trumpet,  with  ringing 
cheer,  with  thundering  hoof  and  streaming  pennon  and 
thrilling  rattle  of  carbine  and  pistol ;  with  one  mag 
nificent,  triumphant  burst  of  speed  the  troop  comes 
whirling  out  from  the  covert  of  the  bluff  and  sweeps 
all  before  it  down  the  valley. 

Away  go  Sioux  and  Cheyenne ;  away,  yelling  shrill 
warning,  go  warrior  and  chief;  away,  down  stream, 
past  the  stiffening  form  of  the  brave  fellow  they  killed ; 
away  past  the  station  where  the  loop-holes  blaze  with 
rifle-shots  and  ring  with  exultant  cheers ;  away  across 
the  road  and  down  the  winding  valley,  and  so  far  to 
h  10* 


114  WELL    WON;   OR, 

the  north  and  the  sheltering  arms  of  the  reservation, — 
and  one  more  Indian  raid  is  over. 

But  at  the  ranch,  while  willing  hands  were  dashing 
water  on  the  flames,  Ralph  and  the  lieutenant  sprang 
inside  the  door-way  just  as  Farron  lifted  from  a  deep, 
cellar-like  aperture  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  a  sobbing 
yet  wonderfully  happy  little  maiden.  She  clung  to  him 
hysterically,  as  he  shook  hands  with  one  after  another 
of  the  few  rescuers  who  had  time  to  hurry  in. 

Wells,  with  bandaged  head  and  arm,  was  sitting  at 
his  post,  his  "  Henry"  still  between  his  knees,  and  he 
looked  volumes  of  pride  and  delight  into  his  young 
friend's  sparkling  eyes.  Pete,  of  course,  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  Jake,  with  a  rifle-bullet  through  his 
shoulder,  was  grinning  pale  gratification  at  the  troopers 
who  came  in,  and  then  there  was  a  moment's  silence  as 
the  captain  entered. 

Farron  stepped  forward  and  held  forth  his  hand. 
Tears  were  starting  from  his  eyes. 

"  You've  saved  me  and  my  little  girl,  captain.  I 
never  can  thank  you  enough." 

"  Bosh  !  Never  mind  us.  Where's  Ralph  McCrea  ? 
There's  the  boy  you  can  thank  for  it  all.  He  led  us?" 

And  though  hot  blushes  sprang  to  the  youngster's 
cheeks,  and  he,  too,  would  have  disclaimed  any  credit 
for  the  rescue,  the  soldiers  would  not  have  it  so.  'Twas 
Ralph  who  dared  that  night-ride  to  bring  the  direful 
news ;  'twas  Ralph  who  guided  them  by  the  shortest, 
quickest  route,  and  was  with  the  foremost  in  the  charge. 
And  so,  a  minute  after,  when  Farron  unclasped  little 
Jessie's  arms  from  about  his  own  neck,  he  whispered 
in  her  ear, — 


FROM  THE  PLAINS  TO   "THE  POINT."       H5 

"  'Twas  Ralph  who  saved  us,  baby.  You  must  thank 
him  for  me,  too." 

And  so,  just  as  the  sun  was  coming  up,  the  little 
girl  with  big,  dark  eyes  whom  we  saw  sitting  in  the 
railway  station  at  Cheyenne,  waiting  wearily  and  pa 
tiently  for  her  father's  coming,  and  sobbing  her  relief 
and  joy  when  she  finally  caught  sight  of  Ralph,  was 
once  more  nestling  a  tear- wet  face  to  his  and  clasping 
him  in  her  little  arms,  and  thanking  him  with  all  her 
loyal,  loving  heart  for  the  gallant  rescue  that  had  come 
to  them  just  in  time. 

Four  days  later  there  was  a  gathering  at  Laramie. 
The  general  had  come ;  the  Fifth  were  there  in  camp, 
and  a  group  of  officers  had  assembled  on  the  parade 
after  the  brief  review  of  the  command.  The  general 
turned  from  his  staff,  and  singled  out  a  captain  of 
cavalry  who  stood  close  at  hand. 

"  McCrea,  I  want  to  see  that  boy  of  yours.  Where 
is  he?" 

An  orderly  sped  away  to  the  group  of  spectators 
and  returned  with  a  silent  and  embarrassed  youth,  who 
raised  his  hat  respectfully,  but  said  no  word.  The 
general  stepped  forward  and  held  out  both  his  hands. 

"  I'm  proud  to  shake  hands  with  you,  young  gentle 
man.  I've  heard  all  about  you  from  the  Fifth.  You 
ought  to  go  to  West  Point  and  be  a  cavalry  officer." 

"  There's  nothing  I  so  much  wish,  general,"  stam 
mered  Ralph,  with  beaming  eyes  and  burning  cheeks. 

"  Then  we'll  telegraph  his  name  to  Washington  this 
very  day,  gentlemen.  I  was  asked  to  designate  some 
young  man  for  West  Point  who  thoroughly  deserved 
it,  and  is  not  this  appointment  well  won?" 


FROM -THE  POINT"  TO  THE  PLAINS. 


CHAPTER    I. 


SHE  was  standing  at  the  very  end  of  the  forward 
deck,  and,  with  flushing  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes, 
gazing  eagerly  upon  the  scene  before  her.  Swiftly, 
smoothly  rounding  the  rugged  promontory  on  the 
right,  the  steamer  was  just  turning  into  the  highland 
"reach"  at  Fort  Montgomery  and  heading  straight 
away  for  the  landings  on  the  sunset  shore.  It  was  only 
mid-May,  but  the  winter  had  been  mild,  the  spring 
early,  and  now  the  heights  on  either  side  were  clothed 
in  raiment  of  the  freshest,  coolest  green ;  the  vines  were 
climbing  in  luxuriant  leaf  all  over  the  face  of  the 
rocky  scarp  that  hemmed  the  swirling  tide  of  the  Hud 
son  ;  the  radiance  of  the  evening  sunshine  bathed  all  the 
eastern  shores  in  mellow  light  and  left  the  dark  slopes 
and  deep  gorges  of  the  opposite  range  all  the  deeper 
and  darker  by  contrast.  A  lively  breeze  had  driven 
most  of  the  passengers  within  doors  as  they  sped 
through  the  broad  waters  of  the  Tappau  Zee,  but,  once 
within  the  sheltering  traverses  of  Dunderberg  and  the 
heights  beyond,  many  of  their  number  reappeared  upon 
the  promenade  deck,  and  first  among  them  was  the 
116 


FROM  "THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS.       H7 

bonnie  little  maid  now  clinging  to  the  guard-rail  at  the 
very  prow,  and,  heedless  of  fluttering  skirt  or  fly-away 
curl,  watching  with  all  her  soul  in  her  bright  blue  eyes 
for  the  first  glimpse  of  the  haven  where  she  would  be. 
No  eyes  on  earth  look  so  eagerly  for  the  grim,  gray 
fagade  of  the  riding-hall  or  the  domes  and  turrets  of 
the  library  building  as  those  of  a  girl  who  has  spent 
the  previous  summer  at  West  Point. 

Utterly  absorbed  in  her  watch,  she  gave  no  heed  to 
other  passengers  who  presently  took  their  station  close 
at  hand.  One  was  a  tall,  dark-eyed,  dark-haired  young 
lady  in  simple  and  substantial  travelling-dress.  With 
her  were  two  men  in  tweeds  and  Derby  hats,  and  to 
these  companions  she  constantly  turned  with  questions 
as  to  prominent  objects  in  the  rich  and  varied  landscape. 
It  was  evident  that  she  was  seeing  for  the  first  time 
sights  that  had  been  described  to  her  time  and  again, 
for  she  was  familiar  with  every  name.  One  of  the 
party  was  a  man  of  over  fifty  years, — bronzed  of  face 
and  gray  of  hair,  but  with  erect  carriage  and  piercing 
black  eyes  that  spoke  of  vigor,  energy,  and  probably 
of  a  life  in  the  open  air.  It  needed  not  the  tri-colored 
button  of  the  Loyal  Legion  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat 
to  tell  that  he  was  a  soldier.  Any  one  who  chose  to 
look — and  there  were  not  a  few — could  speedily  have 
seen,  too,  that  these  were  father  and  daughter. 

The  other  man  was  still  taller  than  the  dark,  wiry, 
slim-built  soldier,  but  in  years  he  was  not  more  than 
twenty-eight  or  nine.  His  eyes,  brows,  hair,  and  the 
heavy  moustache  that  drooped  over  his  mouth  were  all 
of  a  dark,  soft  brown.  His  complexion  was  clear  and 
ruddy ;  his  frame  powerful  and  athletic.  Most  of  the 


118       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

time  he  stood  a  silent  but  attentive  listener  to  the  eager 
talk  between  the  young  lady  and  her  father,  but  his 
kindly  eyes  rarely  left  her  face ;  he  was  ready  to  respond 
when  she  turned  to  question  him,  and  when  he  spoke  it 
was  with  the  unmistakable  intonation  of  the  South. 

The  deep,  mellow  tones  of  the  bell  were  booming  out 
their  landing  signal  as  the  steamer  shot  into  the  shadow 
of  a  high,  rocky  cliff.  Far  aloft  on  the  overhanging 
piazzas  of  a  big  hotel,  fluttering  handkerchiefs  greeted 
the  passengers  on  the  decks  below.  Many  eyes  were 
turned  thither  in  recognition  of  the  salute,  but  not  those 
of  the  young  girl  at  the  bow.  One  might,  indeed,  have 
declared  her  resentful  of  this  intermediate  stop.  The 
instant  the  gray  walls  of  the  riding-school  had  come 
into  view  she  had  signalled,  eagerly,  with  a  wave  of 
her  hand,  to  a  gentleman  and  lady  seated  in  quiet  con 
versation  under  the  shelter  of  the  deck.  Presently  the 
former,  a  burly,  broad-shouldered  man  of  forty  or  there 
abouts,  came  sauntering  forward  and  stood  close  behind 
her. 

"  Well,  Nan  !  Most  there,  I  see.  Think  you  can 
hold  on  five  minutes  longer,  or  shall  I  toss  you  over 
and  let  you  swim  for  it  ?" 

For  answer  Miss  Nan  clasps  a  wooden  pillar  in  her 
gray-gloved  hands,  and  tilts  excitedly  on  the  toes  of 
her  tiny  boots,  never  once  relaxing  her  gaze  on  the 
dock  a  mile  or  more  away  up-stream. 

"  Just  think  of  being  so  near  Willy — and  all  of  them 
— and  not  seeing  one  to  speak  to  until  after  parade,"  she 
finally  says. 

"  Simply  inhuman !"  answers  her  companion  with 
commendable  gravity,  but  with  humorous  twinkle  about 


FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       H9 

his  eyes.  "  Is  it  worth  all  the  long  journey,  and  all 
the  excitement  in  which  your  mother  tells  me  you've 
been  plunged  for  the  past  month  ?" 

"Worth  it,  Uncle  Jack?"  and  the  blue  eyes  flash 
upon  him  indignantly.  "  Worth  it  ?  You  wouldn't 
ask  if  you  knew  it  all,  as  I  do." 

"  Possibly  not,"  says  Uncle  Jack,  whimsically.  "  I 
haven't  the  advantage  of  being  a  girl  with  a  brother 
and  a  baker's  dozen  of  beaux  in  bell  buttons  and  gray. 
I'm  only  an  old  fossil  of  a  '  cit,'  with  a  scamp  of  a 
nephew  and  that  limited  conception  of  the  delights  of 
West  Point  which  one  can  derive  from  running  up  there 
every  time  that  versatile  youngster  gets  into  a  new- 
scrape.  You'll  admit  my  opportunities  have  been 
frequent." 

"  It  isn't  Willy's  fault,  and  you  know  it,  Uncle  Jack, 
though  we  all  know  how  good  you've  been ;  but  he's 
had  more  bad  luck  and — and — injustice  than  any  cadet 
in  the  corps.  Lots  of  his  classmates  told  me  so." 

"Yes,"  says  Uncle  Jack,  musingly.  "That  is  what 
your  blessed  mother,  yonder,  wrote  me  when  I  went  up 
last  winter,  the  time  Billy  submitted  that  explanation 
to  the  commandant  with  its  pleasing  reference  to  the  fox 
that  had  lost  its  tail — you  doubtless  recall  the  incident 
— and  came  within  an  ace  of  dismissal  in  consequence." 

"  I  don't  care !"  interrupts  Miss  Nan,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  Will  had  provocation  enough  to  say  much 
worse  things :  Jimmy  Frazer  wrote  me  so,  and  said  the 
whole  class  was  sticking  up  for  him." 

"  I  do  not  remember  having  had  the  honor  of  meet 
ing  Jimmy  Frazer,"  remarks  Uncle  Jack,  with  an  ag 
gravating  drawl  that  is  peculiar  to  him.  "  Possibly  he 


120       FROM  "THE  POINT'1    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

was  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  didn't  call,  owing 
to  some  temporary  impediment  in  the  way  of  light 
prison " 

"  Yes ;  and  all  because  he  took  Will's  part,  as  I  be 
lieve,"  is  the  impetuous  reply.  "  Oh  !  I'll  be  so  thankful 
when  they're  out  of  it  all." 

"So  will  they,  no  doubt.  l Sticking  up' — wasn't 
that  Mr.  Frazer's  expression  ? — for  Bill  seems  to  have 
been  an  expensive  luxury  all  round.  Wonder  if  stick 
ing  up  is  something  they  continue  when  they  get  to 
their  regiments  ?  Billy  has  two  or  three  weeks  yet  in 
which  to  ruin  his  chances  of  ever  reaching  one,  and  he 
has  exhibited  astonishing  aptitude  for  tripping  himself 
up  thus  far." 

"  Uncle  Jack !  How  can  you  speak  so  of  Willy, 
when  he  is  so  devoted  to  you  ?  When  he  gets  to  his 
regiment  there  won't  be  any  Lieutenant  Lee  to  nag  and 
worry  him  night  and  day.  Hds  the  cause  of  all  the 
trouble." 

"  That  so  ?"  drawls  Uncle  Jack.  "  I  didn't  happen 
to  meet  Mr.  Lee,  either, — he  was  away  on  leave ;  but  as 
Bill  and  your  mother  had  some  such  views,  I  looked 
into  things  a  bit.  It  appears  to  be  a  matter  of  record 
that  my  enterprising  nephew  had  more  demerit  before 
the  advent  of  Mr.  Lee  than  since.  As  for  '  extras'  and 
confinements,  his  stock  was  always  big  enough  to  bear 
the  market  down  to  bottom  prices." 

The  boat  is  once  more  under  way,  and  a  lull  in  the 
chat  close  at  hand  induces  Uncle  Jack  to  look  about 
him.  The  younger  of  the  two  men  lately  standing 
with  the  dark- eyed  girl  has  quietly  withdrawn,  and  IP 
now  shouldering  his  way  to  a  point  out  of  ear-shot. 


FROM  «  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       121 

There  he  calmly  turns  and  waits ;  his  glance  again  rest 
ing  upon  her  whose  side  he  has  so  suddenly  quitted. 
She  has  followed  him  with  her  eyes  until  he  stops ;  then 
with  heightened  color  resumes  a  low-toned  chat  with 
her  father.  Uncle  Jack  is  a  keen  observer,  and  his 
next  words  are  inaudible  except  to  his  niece. 

"Nan,  my  child,  I  apprehend  that  remarks  upon 
the  characteristics  of  the  officers  at  the  Point  had  best 
be  confined  to  the  bosom  of  the  family.  We  may  be 
in  their  very  midst." 

She  turns,  flushing,  and  for  the  first  time  her  blue 
eyes  meet  the  dark  ones  of  the  older  girl.  Her  cheeks 
redden  still  more,  and  she  whirls  about  again. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Uncle  Jack,"  she  murmurs.  "  I'd 
just  like  to  tell  them  all  what  I  think  of  Will's 
troubles." 

"Oh !  Candor  is  to  be  admired  of  all  things,"  says 
Uncle  Jack,  airily.  "  Still  it  is  just  as  well  to  observe 
the  old  adage,  'Be  sure  you're  right/  etc.  Now  I 
own  to  being  rather  fond  of  Bill,  despite  all  the  worry 
he  has  given  your  mother,  and  all  the  bother  he  has 
been  to  me " 

"All  the  worry  that  others  have  given  him,  you 
ought  to  say,  Uncle  Jack." 

"  W-e-11,  har-d-ly.  It  didn't  seem  to  me  that  the 
corps,  as  a  rule,  thought  Billy  the  victim  of  persecu 
tion." 

"  They  all  tell  me  so,  at  least,"  is  the  indignant  out 
burst. 

"  Do  they,  Nan  ?     Well,  of  course,  that  settles  it. 
Still,  there  were  a  few  who  reluctantly  admitted  having 
other  views  when  I  pressed  them  closely." 
F  11 


122       FROM  "THE  POINT"   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"Then  they  were  no  friends  of  Willy's,  or  mine 
either !" 

"Now,  do  you  know,  I  thought  just  the  other  way? 
I  thought  one  of  them,  especially,  a  very  stanch  friend 
of  Billy's  and  yours,  too,  Nan,  but  Billy  seems  to  con 
sider  advisers  in  the  light  of  adversaries." 

A  moment's  pause.  Then,  with  cheeks  still  red, 
and  plucking  at  the  rope  netting  with  nervous  fingers, 
Miss  Nan  essays  a  tentative.  Her  eyes  are  downcast 
as  she  asks, — 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Mr.  Stanley  ?" 

"  The  very  man,  Nanette ;  very  much  of  a  man  to 
my  thinking." 

The  bronzed  soldier  standing  near  cannot  but  have 
heard  the  name  and  the  words.  His  face  takes  on  a 
glow  and  the  black  eyes  kindle. 

"  Mr.  Stanley  would  not  say  to  me  that  Willy  is  to 
blame,"  pouts  the  maiden,  and  her  little  foot  is  beating 
impatiently  tattoo  on  the  deck. 

"  Neither  would  I — -just  now — if  I  were  Mr.  Stan 
ley  ;  but  all  the  same,  he  decidedly  opposed  the  view 
that  Mr.  Lee  was  'down  on  Billy/  as  your  mother 
seems  to  think." 

"That's  because  Mr.  Lee  is  tactical  officer  com 
manding  the  company,  and  Mr.  Stanley  is  cadet  cap 
tain.  Oh  !  I  will  take  him  to  task  if  he  has  been — 
been " 

But  she  does  not  finish.  She  has  turned  quickly  in 
speaking,  her  hand  clutching  a  little  knot  of  bell 
buttons  hanging  by  a  chain  at  the  front  of  her  dress. 
She  has  turned  just  in  time  to  catch  a  warning  glance 
in  Uncle  Jack's  twinkling  eyes,  and  to  see  a  grim 


FROM  «  THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS.       ]23 

smile  lurking  under  the  gray  moustache  of  the  gentle 
man  with  the  Loyal  Legion  button  who  is  leading 
away  the  tall  young  lady  with  the  dark  hair.  In 
another  moment  they  have  rejoined  the  third  member 
of  their  party, — he  who  first  withdrew, — and  it  is  evi 
dent  that  something  has  happened  which  gives  them 
all  much  amusement.  They  are  chatting  eagerly  to 
gether,  laughing  not  a  little,  although  the  laughter, 
like  their  words,  is  entirely  inaudible  to  Miss  Nan. 
But  she  feels  a  twinge  of  indignation  when  the  tall 
girl  turns  and  looks  directly  at  her.  There  is  nothing 
unkindly  in  the  glance.  There  even  is  merriment  in 
the  dark,  handsome  eyes  and  lurking  among  the  dim 
ples  around  that  beautiful  mouth.  Why  did  those  eyes 
— so  heavily  fringed,  so  thickly  shaded — seem  to  her 
familiar  as  old  friends  ?  Nan  could  have  vowed  she 
had  somewhere  met  that  girl  before,  and  now  that  girl 
was  laughing  at  her.  Not  rudely,  not  aggressively,  to 
be  sure, — she  had  turned  away  again  the  instant  she 
saw  that  the  little  maiden's  eyes  were  upon  her, — but 
all  the  same,  said  Nan  to  herself,  she  was  laughing. 
They  were  all  laughing,  and  it  must  have  been  because 
of  her  outspoken  defence  of  Brother  Will  and  equally 
outspoken  defiance  of  his  persecutors.  What  made  it 
worse  was  that  Uncle  Jack  was  laughing  too. 

"  Do  you  know  who  they  are  ?"  she  demands,  indig 
nantly. 

"  Not  I,  Nan,"  responds  Uncle  Jack.  "  Never  saw 
them  before  in  my  life,  but  I  warrant  we  see  them 
again,  and  at  the  Point,  too.  Come,  child.  There's 
our  bell,  and  we  must  start  for  the  gangway.  Your 
mother  is  hailing  us  now.  Never  mind  this  time,  little 


FROM  "  THE  POINT1   TO  THE  PLAINS. 

woman,"  he  continues,  kindly,  as  he  notes  the  cloud  on 
her  brow.  "  I  don't  think  any  harm  has  been  done, 
but  it  is  just  as  well  not  to  be  impetuous  in  public 
speech.  Ah !  I  thought  so.  They  are  to  get  off  here 
with  us." 

Three  minutes  more  and  a  little  stream  of  passengers 
flows  out  upon  the  broad  government  dock,  and,  as 
luck  would  have  it,  Uncle  Jack  and  his  charges  are 
just  behind  the  trio  in  which,  by  this  time,  Miss  Nan 
is  deeply,  if  not  painfully,  interested.  A  soldier  in  the 
undress  uniform  of  a  corporal  of  artillery  hastens  for 
ward  and,  saluting,  stretches  forth  his  hand  to  take 
the  satchel  carried  by  the  tall  man  with  the  brown 
moustache. 

"  The  lieutenant's  carriage  is  at  the  gate,"  he  says, 
whereat  Uncle  Jack,  who  is  conducting  her  mother 
just  in  front,  looks  back  over  his  shoulder  and  nods 
compassionately  at  Nan. 

"  Has  any  despatch  been  sent  down  to  meet  Colonel 
Stanley  ?"  she  hears  the  tall  man  inquire,  and  this  time 
Uncle  Jack's  backward  glance  is  a  combination  of  mis 
chief  and  concern. 

"Nothing,  sir,  and  the  adjutant's  orderly  is  here 
now.  This  is  all  he  brought  down,"  and  the  corporal 
hands  to  the  inquirer  a  note,  the  superscription  of 
which  the  young  officer  quickly  scans ;  then  turns  and, 
while  his  soft  brown  eyes  light  with  kindly  interest 
and  he  bares  his  shapely  head,  accosts  the  lady  on 
Uncle  Jack's  arm, — 

"Pardon  me,  madam.  This  note  must  be  for  you. 
Mrs.  McKay,  is  it  not  ?" 

And  as  her  mother  smiles  her  thanks  and  the  others 


FROM  «  THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS.       125 

tarn  away,  Nan's  eager  eyes  catch  sight  of  Will's  well 
known   writing.     Mrs.    McKay   rapidly   reads   it   as 
Uncle  Jack  is  bestowing  bags  and  bundles  in  the  omni 
bus  and  feeing  the  acceptive  porter,  who  now  rushes 
back  to  the  boat  in  the  nick  of  time. 

"  Awful  sorry  I  can't  get  up  to  the  hotel  to  see 
you,"  says  the  note,  dolorously,  but  by  no  means  unex 
pectedly.  "  I'm  in  confinement  and  can't  get  a  permit. 
Come  to  the  officer-in-charge's  office  right  after  supper, 
and  he'll  let  me  see  you  there  awhile.  Stanley's  officer 
of  the  day,  and  he'll  be  there  to  show  the  way.  In 
haste,  WILL." 

"Now  isn't  that  poor  Willy's  luck  every  time!" 
exclaims  Miss  Nan,  her  blue  eyes  threatening  to  fill 
with  tears.  "  I  do  think  they  might  let  him  off  the 
day  we  get  here." 

"  Unquestionably,"  answers  Uncle  Jack,  with  great 
gravity,  as  he  assists  the  ladies  into  the  yellow  omni 
bus.  "  You  duly  notified  the  superintendent  of  your 
impending  arrival,  I  suppose  ?" 

Mrs.  McKay  smiles  quietly.  Hers  is  a  sweet  and 
gentle  face,  lined  with  many  a  trace  of  care  and  anxiety. 
Her  brother's  whimsical  ways  are  old  acquaintances, 
and  she  knows  how  to  treat  them ;  but  Nan  is  young, 
impulsive,  and  easily  teased.  She  flares  up  instantly. 

"Of  course  we  didn't,  Uncle  Jack;  how  utterly 
absurd  it  would  sound!  But  Willy  knew  we  were 
coming,  and  he  must  have  told  him  when  he  asked 
for  his  permit,  and  it  does  seem  too  hard  that  he  was 
refused." 

11* 


126       FROM  "  THE  POINT1   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"  Heartless  in  the  last  degree,"  says  Uncle  Jack, 
sympathetically,  but  with  the  same  suggestive  drawl. 
>(  Yonder  go  the  father  and  sister  of  the  young  gentle 
man  whom  you  announced  your  intention  to  castigate 
because  he  didn't  agree  that  Billy  was  being  abused, 
Nan.  You  will  have  a  chance  this  very  evening,  won't 
you  ?  He's  officer  of  the  day,  according  to  Billy's  note, 
and  can't  escape.  You'll  have  wound  up  the  whole 
family  by  tattoo.  Quite  a  good  day's  work.  Billy's 
opposers  will  do  well  to  take  warning  and  keep  out  of 
the  way  hereafter,"  he  continues,  teasingly.  "  Oh — ah 
— corpora//"  he  calls,  "who  was  the  young  officer 
who  just  drove  off  in  the  carriage  with  the  lady  and 
gentleman  ?" 

"  That  was  Lieutenant  Lee,  sir." 

Uncle  Jack  turns  and  contemplates  his  niece  with 
an  expression  of  the  liveliest  admiration.  "  'Pon  my 
word,  Miss  Nan,  you  are  a  most  comprehensive  young 
person.  You've  indeed  let  no  guilty  man  escape." 


CHAPTER    II. 

A  CADET  SCAPEGRACE. 

THE  evening  that  opened  so  clear  and  sunshiny  has 
clouded  rapidly  over.  Even  as  the  four  gray  com 
panies  come  "  trotting"  in  from  parade,  and,  with  the 
ease  of  long  habit,  quickly  forming  line  in  the  barrack 
area,  some  heavy  rain-drops  begin  to  fall ;  the  drum- 
major  has  hurried  his  band  away ;  the  crowd  of  spec 
tators,  unusually  large  for  so  early  in  the  season,  scatters 


FROM  "  THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS.       127 

for  shelter ;  umbrellas  pop  up  here  and  there  under 
the  beautiful  trees  along  the  western  roadway ;  the 
adjutant  rushes  through  "  delinquency  list"  in  a  style 
distinguishable  only  to  his  stolid,  silent  audience  stand 
ing  immovably  before  him, — a  long  perspective  of  gray 
uniforms  and  glistening  white  belts.  The  fateful  book 
is  closed  with  a  snap,  and  the  echoing  walls  ring  to  the 
quick  commands  of  the  first  sergeants,  at  which  the 
bayonets  are  struck  from  the  rifle-barrels,  and  the  long 
line  bursts  into  a  living  torrent  sweeping  into  the  hall 
ways  to  escape  the  coming  shower. 

When  the  battalion  reappears,  a  few  moments  later, 
every  man  is  in  his  overcoat,  and  here  and  there  little 
knots  of  upper  classmen  gather,  and  there  is  eager  and 
excited  talk. 

A  soldierly,  dark-eyed  young  fellow,  with  the  red 
sash  of  the  officer  of  the  day  over  his  shoulder,  comes 
briskly  out  of  the  hall  of  the  fourth  division.  The 
chevrons  of  a  cadet  captain  are  glistening  on  his  arm, 
and  he  alone  has  not  donned  the  gray  overcoat,  although 
he  has  discarded  the  plumed  shako  in  deference  to  the 
coming  storm ;  yet  he  hardly  seems  to  notice  the  down 
pour  of  the  rain  ;  his  face  is  grave  and  his  lips  set  and 
compressed  as  he  rapidly  makes  his  way  through  the 
groups  awaiting  the  signal  to  "  fall  in"  for  supper. 

"  Stanley  !  O  Stanley  I"  is  the  hail  from  a  knot  of 
classmates,  and  he  halts  and  looks  about  as  two  or 
three  of  the  party  hasten  after  him. 

"  What  does  Billy  say  about  it?"  is  the  eager  inquiry. 

"  Nothing — new." 

"  Well,  that  report  as  good  as  finds  him  on  demerit, 
doesn't  it  ?" 


128       FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"  The  next  thing  to  it ;  though  he  has  been  as  close 
to  the  brink  before." 

"  But — great  Scott !  He  has  two  weeks  yet  to  run ; 
and  Billy  McKay  can  no  more  live  two  weeks  without 
demerit  than  Patsy,  here,  without  '  spooning.'  " 

Mr.  Stanley's  eyes  look  tired  as  he  glances  up  from 
under  the  visor  of  his  forage  cap.  He  is  not  as  tall 
by  half  a  head  as  the  young  soldiers  by  whom  he  is 
surrounded. 

"  We  were  talking  of  his  chances  at  dinner-time," 
he  says,  gravely.  "  Billy  never  mentioned  this  break 
of  his  yesterday,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  the  report 
read  out  to-night.  I  believe  he  had  forgotten  the 
whole  thing." 

"  Who  '  skinned'  him  ? — Lee?     He  was  there." 

"I  don't  know;  McKay  says  so,  but  there  were 
several  officers  over  there  at  the  time.  It  is  a  report 
he  cannot  get  off,  and  it  comes  at  a  most  unlucky 
moment." 

With  this  remark  Mr.  Stanley  turns  away  and  goes 
striding  through  the  crowded  area  towards  the  guard 
house.  Another  moment  and  there  is  sudden  drum 
beat;  the  gray  overcoats  leap  into  ranks;  the  subject 
of  the  recent  discussion — a  jaunty  young  fellow  with 
laughing  blue  eyes — comes  tearing  out  of  the  fourth 
division  just  in  time  to  avoid  a  "  late,"  and  the  clamor 
of  tenscore  voices  gives  place  to  silence  broken  only  by 
the  rapid  calling  of  the  rolls  and  the  prompt  "  here" 
— "  here,"  in  response. 

If  ever  there  was  a  pet  in  the  corps  of  cadets  he 
lived  in  the  person  of  Billy  McKay.  Bright  as  one 
of  his  own  buttons;  jovial,  generous,  impulsive;  he 


FROM  "  THE  POINT'   TO   THE  PLAINS.       ]  29 

had  only  one  enemy  in  the  battalion, — and  that  one,  as 
he  had  been  frequently  told,  was  himself.  This,  how 
ever,  was  a  matter  which  he  could  not  at  all  be  induced 
to  believe.  Of  the  Academic  Board  in  general,  of  his 
instructors  in  large  measure,  but  of  the  four  or  five  ill- 
starred  soldiers  known  as  "  tactical  officers"  in  particu 
lar,  Mr.  McKay  entertained  very  decided  and  most 
unflattering  opinions.  He  had  won  his  cadetship 
through  rigid  competitive  examination  against  all 
comers ;  he  was  a  natural  mathematician  of  whom  a 
professor  had  said  that  he  "could  stand  in  the  fives 
and  wouldn't  stand  in  the  forties ;"  years  of  his  boy 
hood  spent  in  France  had  made  him  master  of  the  col 
loquial  forms  of  the  court  language  of  Europe,  yet  a 
dozen  classmates  who  had  never  seen  a  French  verb 
before  their  admission  stood  above  him  at  the  end  of 
the  first  term.  He  had  gone  to  the  first  section  like  a 
rocket  and  settled  to  the  bottom  of  it  like  a  stick.  No 
subject  in  the  course  was  really  hard  to  him,  his  natural 
aptitude  enabling  him  to  triumph  over  the  toughest 
problems.  Yet  he  hated  work,  and  would  often  face 
about  with  an  empty  black-board  and  take  a  zero  and 
a  report  for  neglect  of  studies  that  half  an  hour's 
application  would  have  rendered  impossible.  Class 
mates  who  saw  impending  danger  would  frequently 
make  stolen  visits  to  his  room  towards  the  close  of  the 
term  and  profess  to  be  baffled  by  the  lesson  for  the 
morrow,  and  Billy  would  promptly  knock  the  ashes 
out  of  the  pipe  he  was  smoking  contrary  to  regulations 
and  lay  aside  the  guitar  on  which  he  had  been  softly 
strumming — also  contrary  to  regulations ;  would  pick 
up  the  neglected  calculus  or  mechanics ;  get  interested 


130       FROM  "  THE  POINT"   TO  THE  PLAINS. 

in  the  work  of  explanation,  and  end  by  having  learned 
the  lesson  in  spite  of  himself.  This  was  too  good  a 
joke  to  be  kept  a  secret,  and  by  the  time  the  last  year 
came  Billy  had  found  it  all  out  and  refused  to  be 
longer  hoodwinked. 

There  was  never  the  faintest  danger  of  his  being 
found  deficient  in  studies,  but  there  was  ever  the 
glaring  prospect  of  his  being  discharged  "  on  demerit." 
Mr.  McKay  and  the  regulations  of  the  United  States 
Military  Academy  had  been  at  loggerheads  from  the 
start. 

And  yet,  frank,  jolly,  and  generous  as  he  was  in  all 
intercourse  with  his  comrades,  there  was  never  a  time 
when  this  young  gentleman  could  be  brought  to  see 
that  in  such  matters  he  was  the  arbiter  of  his  own 
destiny.  Like  the  Irishman  whose  first  announcement 
on  setting  foot  on  American  soil  was  that  he  was  "  agin 
the  government,"  Billy  McKay  believed  that  regula 
tions  were  made  only  to  oppress ;  that  the  men  who 
drafted  such  a  code  were  idiots,  and  that  those  whose 
duty  it  became  to  enforce  it  were  simply  spies  and  ty 
rants,  resistance  to  whom  was  innate  virtue.  He  was 
forever  ignoring  or  violating  some  written  or  unwritten 
law  of  the  Academy  ;  was  frequently  being  caught  in 
the  act,  and  was  invariably  ready  to  attribute  the  re 
sultant  report  to  ill  luck  which  pursued  no  one  else,  or 
to  a  deliberate  persecution  which  followed  him  forever. 
Every  six  months  he  had  been  on  the  verge  of  dis 
missal,  and  now,  a  fortnight  from  the  final  examina 
tion,  with  a  margin  of  only  six  demerit  to  run  on, 
Mr.  Billy  McKay  had  just  been  read  out  in  the  daily 
list  of  culprits  or  victims  as  "  Shouting  from  window 


FROM  "THE  POINT'   TO   THE   PLAINS. 

of  barracks  to  cadets  in  area  during  study  hours,— 
three  forty-five  and  four  P.M." 

There  was  absolutely  no  excuse  for  this  performance. 
The  regulations  enjoined  silence  and  order  in  barracks 
during  "  call  to  quarters."  It  had  been  raining  a  little, 
and  he  was  in  hopes  there  would  be  no  battalion  drill,  in 
which  event  he  would  venture  on  throwing  off  his  uni 
form  and  spreading  himself  out  on  his  bed  with  a  pipe 
and  a  novel, — two  things  he  dearly  loved.  Ten  minutes 
would  have  decided  the  question  legitimately  for  him, 
but,  being  of  impatient  temperament,  he  could  not  wait, 
and,  catching  sight  of  the  adjutant  and  the  senior  cap 
tain  coming  from  the  guard-house,  Mr.  McKay  sung 
out  in  tones  familiar  to  every  man  within  ear-shot, — 

"  Hi,  Jim  !     Is  it  battalion  drill  ?" 

The  adjutant  glanced  quickly  up, — a  warning  glance 
as  he  could  have  seen, — merely  shook  his  head,  and 
went  rapidly  on,  while  his  comrade,  the  cadet  first 
captain,  clinched  his  fist  at  the  window  and  growled 
between  his  set  teeth,  "  Be  quiet,  you  idiot !" 

But  poor  Billy  persisted.     Louder  yet  he  called,— 

"  Well — say — Jimmy  !  Come  up  here  after  four 
o'clock.  I'll  be  in  confinement,  and  can't  come  out. 
Want  to  see  you." 

And  the  windows  over  at  the  office  of  the  com 
mandant  being  wide  open,  and  that  official  being  seated 
there  in  consultation  with  three  or  four  of  his  assist 
ants,  and  as  Mr.  McKay's  voice  was  as  well  known  to 
them  as  to  the  corps,  there  was  no  alternative.  The 
colonel  himself  "confounded"  the  young  scamp  for 
his  recklessness,  and  directed  a  report  to  be  entered 
against  him. 


132       FROM  "  THE  POINT"   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

And  now,  as  Mr.  Stanley  is  betaking  himself  to  his 
post  at  the  guard-house,  his  heart  is  heavy  within  him 
because  of  this  new  load  on  his  comrade's  shoulders. 

"How  on  earth  could  you  have  been  so  careless, 
Billy  ?"  he  had  asked  him  as  McKay,  fuming  and  in 
dignant,  was  throwing  off  his  accoutrements  in  hia 
room  on  the  second  floor. 

"  How'd  I  know  anybody  was  over  there  ?"  was  the 
boyish  reply.  "  It's  just  a  skin  on  suspicion  anyhow. 
Lee  couldn't  have  seen  me,  nor  could  anybody  else.  I 
stood  way  back  by  the  clothes-press." 

"  There's  no  suspicion  about  it,  Billy.  There  isn't 
a  man  that  walks  the  area  that  doesn't  know  your 
voice  as  well  as  he  does  Jim  Pen  nock's.  Confound  it ! 
You'll  get  over  the  limit  yet,  man,  and  break  your — 
your  mother's  heart." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Stan  !  You've  been  nagging  me 
ever  since  last  camp.  Why  'n  thunder  can't  you  see 
I'm  doing  my  best  ?  Other  men  don't  row  me  as  you 
do,  or  stand  up  for  the  '  tacks.'  I  tell  you  that  fellow 
Lee  never  loses  a  chance  of  skinning  me :  he  takes 
chances,  by  gad,  and  I'll  make  his  eyes  pop  out  of  his 
head  when  he  reads  what  I've  got  to  say  about  it." 

"You're  too  hot  for  reason  now,  McKay,"  said 
Stanley,  sadly.  "Step  out  or  you'll  get  a  late  for 
supper.  I'll  see  you  after  awhile.  I  gave  that  note  to 
the  orderly,  by  the  way,  and  he  said  he'd  take  it  down 
to  the  dock  himself." 

"  Mother  and  Nan  will  probably  come  to  the  guard 
house  right  after  supper.  Look  out  for  them  for  me, 
will  you,  Stan,  until  old  Snipes  gets  there  and  send* 
forme?" 


FROM  "  THE  POINT'   TO   THE  PLAINS.       133 

And  as  Mr.  Stanley  shut  the  door  instantly  and 
went  clattering  down  the  iron  stairs,  Mr.  McKay  caught 
no  sign  on  his  face  of  the  sudden  flutter  beneath  that 
snugly-buttoned  coat. 

It  was  noticed  by  more  than  one  of  the  little  coterie 
at  his  own  table  that  the  officer  of  the  day  hurried 
through  his  supper  and  left  the  mess-hall  long  before 
the  command  for  the  first  company  to  rise.  It  was  a 
matter  well  known  to  every  member  of  the  graduating 
class  that,  almost  from  the  day  of  her  arrival  during 
the  encampment  of  the  previous  summer,  Phil  Stanley 
had  been  a  devoted  admirer  of  Miss  Nannie  McKay. 
It  was  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at. 

Without  being  what  is  called  an  ideal  beauty,  there 
was  a  fascination  about  this  winsome  little  maid  which 
few  could  resist.  She  had  all  her  brother's  impulsive 
ness,  all  his  enthusiasm,  and,  it  may  be  safely  asserted, 
all  his  abiding  faith  in  the  sacred  and  unimpeachable 
character  of  cadet  friendships.  If  she  possessed  a  little 
streak  of  romance  that  was  not  discernible  in  him,  she 
managed  to  keep  it  well  in  the  background  ;  and  though 
she  had  her  favorites  in  the  corps,  she  was  so  frank  and 
cordial  and  joyous  in  her  manner  to  all  that  it  was  im 
possible  to  say  which  one,  if  any,  she  regarded  in  the 
light  of  a  lover.  Whatever  comfort  her  gentle  mother 
may  have  derived  from  this  state  of  affairs,  it  was  "  hard 
lines  on  Stanley,"  as  his  classmates  put  it,  for  there 
could  be  little  doubt  that  the  captain  of  the  color  com 
pany  was  a  sorely-smitten  man. 

He  was  not  what  is  commonly  called  a  "  popular 
man"  in  the  corps.  The  son  of  a  cavalry  officer,  reared 
on  the  wide  frontier  and  educated  only  imperfectly,  he 

12 


134       FROM  "  THE  POINT"   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

had  not  been  able  to  enter  the  Academy  until  nearly 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  nothing  but  indomitable  will 
and  diligence  had  carried  him  through  the  difficulties 
of  the  first  half  of  the  course.  It  was  not  until  the 
middle  of  the  third  year  that  the  chevrons  of  a  sergeant 
were  awarded  him,  and  even  then  the  battalion  was 
taken  by  surprise.  There  was  no  surprise  a  few  months 
later,  however,  when  he  was  promoted  over  a  score  of 
classmates  and  made  captain  of  his  company.  It  was 
an  open  secret  that  the  commandant  had  said  that  if  he 
had  it  all  to  do  over  again,  Mr.  Stanley  would  be  made 
"first  captain," — a  rumor  that  big  John  Burton,  the 
actual  incumbent  of  that  office,  did  not  at  all  fancy. 
Stanley  was  "square"  and  impartial.  His  company 
was  in  admirable  discipline,  though  many  of  his  class 
mates  growled  and  wished  he  were  not  "  so  confound 
edly  military."  The  second  classmen,  always  the  most 
critical  judges  of  the  qualifications  of  their  seniors,  con 
ceded  that  he  was  more  soldierly  than  any  man  of  his 
year,  but  were  unanimous  in  the  opinion  that  he  should 
show  more  deference  to  men  of  their  standing  in  the 
corps.  The  "  yearlings"  swore  by  him  in  any  discus 
sion  as  to  the  relative  merits  of  the  four  captains ;  but 
with  equal  energy  swore  at  him  when  contemplating 
that  fateful  volume  known  as  "  the  skin  book."  The 
fourth  classmen — the  "  plebes" — simply  worshipped  the 
ground  he  trod  on,  and  as  between  General  Sherman 
and  Philip  Stanley,  it  is  safe  to  say  these  youngsters 
would  have  determined  on  the  latter  as  the  more  suit 
able  candidate  for  the  office  of  general-in-chief.  Of 
course  they  admired  the  adjutant, — the  plebes  always 
do  that, — and  not  infrequently  to  the  exclusion  of  the 


FROM  «  THE  POINT'   TO   THE  PLAINS.       135 

other  cadet  officers ;  but  there  was  something  grand,  to 
them,  about  this  dark-eyed,  dark-faced,  dignified  captain 
who  never  stooped  to  trifle  with  them ;  was  always  so 
precise  and  courteous,  and  yet  so  immeasurably  distant. 
They  were  ten  times  more  afraid  of  him  than  they  had 
been  of  Lieutenant  Rolfe,  who  was  their  "  tack"  during 
camp,  or  of  the  great,  handsome,  kindly-voiced  dra 
goon  who  succeeded  him,  Lieutenant  Lee,  of  the  — th 
Cavalry.  They  approved  of  this  latter  gentleman 
because  he  belonged  to  the  regiment  of  which  Mr. 
Stanley's  father  was  lieutenant-colonel,  and  to  which  it 
was  understood  Mr.  Stanley  was  to  be  assigned  on  his 
graduation.  What  they  could  not  at  all  understand 
was  that,  once  graduated,  Mr.  Stanley  could  step  down 
from  his  high  position  in  the  battalion  of  cadets  and 
become  a  mere  file-closer.  Yes.  Stanley  was  too  strict 
and  soldierly  to  command  that  decidedly  ephemeral 
tribute  known  as  "  popularity,"  but  no  man  in  the 
corps  of  cadets  was  more  thoroughly  respected.  If 
there  were  flaws  in  the  armor  of  his  personal  character 
they  were  not  such  as  to  be  vigorously  prodded  by  his 
comrades.  He  had  firm  friends, — devoted  friends,  who 
grew  to  honor  and  trust  him  more  with  every  year ;  but, 
strong  though  they  knew  him  to  be,  he  had  found  his* 
conqueror.  There  was  a  story  in  the  first  class  that  in 
Stanley's  old  leather  writing-case  was  a  sort  of  secret 
compartment,  and  in  this  compartment  was  treasured 
"  a  knot  of  ribbon  blue"  that  had  been  worn  last  sum 
mer  close  under  the  dimpled  white  chin  of  pretty 
Nannie  McKay. 

And  now  on  this  moist  May  evening  as  he  hastens 
back  to  barracks,  Mr.  Stanley  spies  a  little  group  stand- 


136       FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS. 

ing  in  front  of  the  guard-house.  Lieutenant  Lee  is 
there, — in  his  uniform  now, — and  with  him  are  the  tall 
girl  in  the  simple  travelling-dress,  and  the  trim,  wiry, 
gray-moustached  soldier  whom  we  saw  on  the  boat.  The 
rain  is  falling  steadily,  which  accounts  for  and  possibly 
excuses  Mr.  Lee's  retention  of  the  young  lady's  arm  in 
his  as  he  holds  the  umbrella  over  both  ;  but  the  colonel 
no  sooner  catches  sight  of  the  officer  of  the  day  than 
his  own  umbrella  is  cast  aside,  and  with  light,  eager, 
buoyant  steps,  father  and  son  hasten  to  meet  each  other. 
In  an  instant  their  hands  are  clasped, — both  hands,— 
and  through  moistening  eyes  the  veteran  of  years  of 
service  and  the  boy  in  whom  his  hopes  are  centred 
gaze  into  each  other's  faces. 

«  Phil,— my  son  !" 

"Father!" 

No  other  words.  It  is  the  first  meeting  in  two  long 
years.  The  area  is  deserted  save  by  the  smiling  pair 
watching  from  under  the  dripping  umbrella  with  eyes 
nearly  as  moist  as  the  skies.  There  is  no  one  to*com- 
ment  or  to  scoff.  In  the  father's  heart,  mingling  with 
the  deep  joy  at  this  reunion  with  his  son,  there  wells  up 
sudden,  irrepressible  sorrow.  "  Ah,  God  !"  he  thinks. 
"  Could  his  mother  but  have  lived  to  see  him  now  !" 
Perhaps  Philip  reads  it  all  in  the  strong  yet  tremulous 
clasp  of  those  sinewy  brown  hands,  but  for  the  moment 
neither  speaks  again.  There  are  some  joys  so  deep, 
some  heart  longings  so  overpowering,  that  many  a  man 
is  forced  to  silence,  or  to  a  levity  of  manner  which  is 
utterly  repugnant  to  him,  in  the  effort  to  conceal  from 
the  world  the  tumult  of  emotion  that  so  nearly  makes 
him  weep.  Who  that  has  read  that  inimitable  page  will 


FROM  "  THE  POINT1   TO    THE  PLAINS.       137 

ever  forget  the  meeting  of  that  genial  sire  and  gallant 
sou  in  the  grimy  old  railway  car  filled  with  the  wounded 
from  Antietam,  in  Doctor  Holmes's  "  My  Search  for 
the  Captain  ?" 

When  Phil  Stanley,  still  clinging  to  his  father's  hand, 
turns  to  greet  his  sister  and  her  handsome  escort,  he  is 
suddenly  aware  of  another  group  that  has  entered  the 
area.  Two  ladies,  marshalled  by  his  classmate,  Mr. 
Pennock,  are  almost  at  his  side,  and  one  of  them  is  the 
blue-eyed  girl  he  loves. 


CHAPTER    III. 


LOVELY  as  is  West  Point  in  May,  it  is  hardly  the 
best  time  for  a  visit  there  if  one's  object  be  to  see  the 
cadets.  From  early  morn  until  late  at  night  every 
hour  is  taken  up  with  duties,  academic  or  military. 
Mothers,  sisters,  and  sweethearts,  whose  eyes  so  eagerly 
follow  the  evolutions  of  the  gray  ranks,  can  only  hope 
for  a  few  words  between  drill  and  dress  parade,  or  else 
in  the  shortest  half-hour  in  all  the  world, — that  which 
intervenes  'twixt  supper  and  evening  "  call  to  quarters." 
That  Miss  Nannie  McKay  should  make  frequent  and 
unfavorable  comment  on  this  state  of  aifairs  goes  with 
out  saying ;  yet,  had  she  been  enabled  to  see  her  beloved 
brother  but  once  a  month  and  her  cadet  friends  at 
intervals  almost  as  rare,  that  incomprehensible  young 
damsel  would  have  preferred  the  Point  to  any  other 
place  in  the  world. 

12* 


138       FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS. 

It  was  now  ten  days  since  her  arrival,  and  she  had 
had  perhaps  three  chats  with  Willy,  who,  luckily  for 
him,  though  he  could  not  realize  it,  was  spending  most 
of  his  time  u  confined  to  quarters/'  and  consequently 
out  of  much  of  the  temptation  he  would  otherwise 
hav.e  been  in.  Mrs.  McKay  had  been  able  to  see  very 
little  more  of  the  young  man,  but  she  had  the  prayer 
ful  consolation  that  if  he  could  only  be  kept  out  of 
mischief  a  few  days  longer  he  would  then  be  through 
with  it  all,  out  of  danger  of  dismissal,  actually  gradu 
ated,  and  once  more  her  own  boy  to  monopolize  as  she 
chose. 

It  takes  most  mothers  a  long,  long  time  to  become 
reconciled  to  the  complete  usurpation  of  all  their  former 
rights  by  this  new  parent  whom  their  boys  are  bound 
to  serve, — this  anything  but  Alma  Mater, — the  war 
school  of  the  nation.  As  for  Miss  Nan,  though  she 
made  it  a  point  to  declaim  vigorously  at  the  fates  that 
prevented  her  seeing  more  of  her  brother,  it  was  won 
derful  how  well  she  looked  and  in  what  blithe  spirits 
she  spent  her  days.  Regularly  as  the  sun  came  around, 
before  guard-mount  in  the  morning  and  right  after 
supper  in  the  evening,  she  was  sure  to  be  on  the  south 
piazza  of  the  old  hotel,  and  when  presently  the  cadet 
uniforms  began  to  appear  at  the  hedge,  she,  and  others, 
would  go  tripping  lightly  down  the  path  to  meet  the 
wearers,  and  then  would  follow  the  half-hour's  walk 
and  chat  in  which  she  found  such  infinite  delight.  So, 
too,  could  Mr.  Stanley,  had  he  been  able  to  appear  as 
her  escort  on  all  occasions ;  but  despite  his  strong  per 
sonal  inclination  and  effort,  this  was  by  no  means  the 
case.  The  little  lady  was  singularly  impartial  in  the 


j'ROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       139 

distribution  of  her  time,  and  only  by  being  first  ap 
plicant  had  he  secured  to  himself  the  one  long  after 
noon  that  had  yet  been  vouchsafed  them, — the  cadet 
half-holiday  of  Saturday. 

But  if  Miss  Nan  found  time  hanging  heavily  on  her 
hands  at  other  hours  of  the  day,  there  was  one  young 
lady  at  the  hotel  who  did  not, — a  young  lady  whom, 
by  this  time,  she  regarded  with  constantly  deepening 
interest, — Miriam  Stanley. 

Other  girls,  younger  girls,  who  had  found  their  ideals 
in  the  cadet  gray,  were  compelled  to  spend  hours  of 
the  twenty-four  in  waiting  for  the  too  brief  half-hour 
in  which  it  was  possible  to  meet  them ;  but  Miss 
Stanley  was  very  differently  situated.  It  was  her  first 
visit  to  the  Point.  She  met,  and  was  glad  to  meet,  all 
Philip's  friends  and  comrades;  but  it  was  plainly  to 
be  seen,  said  all  the  girls  at  Craney's,  that  between  her 
and  the  tall  cavalry  officer  whom  they  best  knew  through 
cadet  descriptions,  there  existed  what  they  termed  an 
"  understanding,"  if  not  an  engagement.  Every  day, 
when  not  prevented  by  duties,  Mr.  Lee  would  come 
stalking  up  from  barracks,  and  presently  away  they 
would  stroll  together, — a  singularly  handsome  pair,  as 
every  one  admitted.  One  morning  soon  after  the 
Stanleys'  arrival  he  appeared  in  saddle  on  his  stylish 
bay,  accompanied  by  an  orderly  leading  another  horse, 
side-saddled ;  and  then,  as  by  common  impulse,  all  the 
girls  promenading  the  piazzas,  as  was  their  wont,  with 
arms  entwining  each  other's  waists,  came  flocking  about 
the  south  steps.  When  Miss  Stanley  appeared  in  her 
riding-habit  and  was  quickly  swung  up  into  saddle  by 
her  cavalier,  and  then,  with  a  bright  nod  and  smile  for 


140       FROM  «  THE  POINT'   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

the  entire  group,  she  gathered  the  reins  in  her  practised 
hand  and  rode  briskly  away,  the  sentiments  of  the  fair 
spectators  were  best  expressed,  perhaps,  in  the  remark 
of  Miss  McKay, — 

"  What  a  shame  it  is  that  the  cadets  can't  ride !  I 
mean  can't  ride — that  way,"  she  explained,  with  sug 
gestive  nod  of  her  curly  head  towards  the  pair  just 
trotting  out  upon  the  road  around  the  Plain.  "  They 
ride — lots  of  them — better  than  most  of  the  officers." 

"  Mr.  Stanley  for  instance,"  suggests  a  mischievous 
little  minx 'with  hazel  eyes  and  laughter-loving  mouth. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Stanley,  or  Mr.  Pennock,  or  Mr.  Burton, 
or  a  dozen  others  I  could  name,  not  excepting  my 
brother,"  answers  Miss  Nan,  stoutly,  although  those 
readily  flushing  cheeks  of  hers  promptly  throw  out 
their  signals  of  perturbation.  "  Fancy  Mr.  Lee  vault 
ing  over  his  horse  at  the  gallop  as  they  do." 

"  And  yet  Mr.  Lee  has  taught  them  so  much  more 
thao  other  instructors.  Several  cadets  have  told  me 
so.  He  always  does,  first,  everything  he  requires  them 
to  do ;  so  he  must  be  able  to  make  that  vault." 

"  Will  doesn't  say  so  by  any  means,"  retorts  Nannie, 
with  something  very  like  a  pout;  and  as  Will  is  a 
prime  favorite  with  the  entire  party  and  the  centre  of 
a  wide  circle  of  interest,  sympathy,  and  anxiety  in 
those  girlish  hearts,  their  loyalty  is  proof  against 
opinions  that  may  not  coincide  with  his.  "  Miss  Mis 
chief"  reads  temporary  defeat  in  the  circle  of  bright 
faces  and  is  stung  to  new  effort, — 

"  Well !  there  are  cadets  whose  opinions  you  value 
quite  as  much  as  you  do  your  brother's,  Nannie,  and 
they  have  told  me." 


FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       141 

"Who?"  challenges  Miss  Nan,  yet  with  averted 
face.  Thrice  of  late  she  has  disagreed  with  Mr. 
Stanley  about  Willy's  troubles ;  has  said  things  to  him 
which  she  wishes  she  had  left  unsaid;  and  for  two 
days  now  he  has  not  sought  her  side  as  heretofore, 
though  she  knows  he  has  been  at  the  hotel  to  see  his 
sister,  and  a  little  bird  has  told  her  he  had  a  long  talk 
with  this  same  hazel-eyed  girl.  She  wants  to  know 
more  about  it, — yet  does  not  want  to  ask. 

"Phil  Stanley,  for  one,"  is  the  not  unexpected 
answer. 

Somebody  who  appears  to  know  all  about  it  has 
written  that  when  a  girl  is  beginning  to  feel  deep  in 
terest  in  a  man  she  will  say  things  decidedly  detri 
mental  to  his  character  solely  for  the  purpose  of 
having  them  denied  and  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
him  defended.  Is  it  this  that  prompts  Miss  McKay 
to  retort? — 

"Mr.  Stanley  cares  too  little  what  his  classmates 
think,  and  too  much  of  what  Mr.  Lee  may  say  or  do." 

"  Mr.  Stanley  isn't  the  only  one  who  thinks  a  deal 
of  Lieutenant  Lee,"  is  the  spirited  answer.  "Mr. 
Burton  says  he  is  the  most  popular  tactical  officer  here, 
and  many  a  cadet — good  friends  of  your  brother's, 
Nannie — has  said  the  same  thing.  You  don't  like  him 
because  Will  doesn't." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  or  respect  any  officer  who  reports 
cadets  on  suspicion,"  is  the  stout  reply.  "If  he  did 
that  to  any  one  else  I  would  despise  it  as  much  as  I  do 
because  Willy  is  the  victim." 

The  discussion  is  waxing  hot.  "  Miss  Mischief's" 
blood  is  up.  She  likes  Phil  Stanley ;  she  likes  Mr. 


142       FROM  "  THE  POINT"   TO    THE  PLAINS 

Lee ;  she  has  hosts  of  friends  in  the  corps,  and  she  is 
just  as  loyal  and  quite  as  pronounced  in  her  views  aa 
her  little  adversary.  They  are  fond  of  each  other,  too, 
and  were  great  chums  all  through  the  previous  summer; 
but  there  is  danger  of  a  quarrel  to-day. 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  just  in  that  matter  at  all, 
Nannie.  I  have  heard  cadets  say  that  if  they  had 
been  in  Mr.  Lee's  place  or  on  officer-of-the-day  duty 
they  would  have  had  to  give  Will  that  report  you  take 
so  much  to  heart.  Everybody  knows  his  voice.  Half 
the  corps  heard  him  call  out  to  Mr.  Pennock." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  single  cadet  who's  a  friend  of 
Will's  would  say  such  a  thing,"  bursts  in  Miss  Nan, 
her  eyes  blazing. 

"  He  is  a  friend,  and  a  warm  friend,  too." 

"  You  said  there  were  several,  Kitty,  and  I  don't 
believe  it  possible." 

"  Well.  There  were  two  or  three.  If  you  don't 
believe  it,  you  can  ask  Mr.  Stanley.  He  said  it,  and 
the  others  agreed. 

Fancy  the  mood  in  which  she  meets  him  this  par 
ticular  evening,  when  his  card  was  brought  to  her 
door.  Twice  has  "  Miss  Mischief"  essayed  to  enter 
the  room  and  "  make  up."  Conscience  has  been  tell 
ing  her  savagely  that  in  the  impulse  and  sting  of  the 
moment  she  has  given  an  unfair  coloring  to  the  whole 
matter.  Mr.  Stanley  had  volunteered  no  such  remark 
as  that  she  so  vehemently  quoted.  Asked  point  blank 
whether  he  considered  as  given  "on  suspicion"  the 
report  which  Mrs.  McKay  and  Nannie  so  resented,  he 
replied  that  he  did  not ;  and,  when  further  pressed,  he 
eaid  that  Will  alone  was  blamable  in  the  matter :  Mr. 


FROM  "  THE  POINT1   TO   THE  PLAINS.       143 

Lee  had  no  alternative,  if  it  was  Mr.  Lee  who  gave 
the  report,  and  any  other  officer  would  have  been  com 
pelled  to  do  the  same.  All  this  u  Miss  Mischief" 
would  gladly  have  explained  to  Nannie  could  she 
have  gained  admission,  but  the  latter  "  had  a  splitting 
headache,"  and  begged  to  be  excused. 

It  has  been  such  a  lovely  afternoon.  The  halls 
were  filled  with  cadets  "on  permit,"  when  she  came 
out  from  the  dining-room,  but  nothing  but  ill-luck 
seemed  to  attend  her.  The  young  gentleman  who  had 
invited  her  to  walk  to  Fort  Putnam,  most  provokingly 
twisted  an  ankle  at  cavalry  drill  that  very  morning, 
and  was  sent  to  hospital.  Now,  if  Mr.  Stanley  were 
all  devotion,  he  would  promptly  tender  his  services  as 
substitute.  Then  she  could  take  him  to  task  and  pun 
ish  him  for  his  disloyalty  to  Will.  But  Mr.  Stanley 
was  not  to  be  seen  :  "  Gone  off  with  another  girl,"  was 
the  announcement  made  to  her  by  Mr.  Werrick,  a 
youth  who  dearly  loved  a  joke,  and  who  saw  no  need 
of  explaining  that  the  other  girl  was  his  own  sister. 
Sorely  disappointed,  yet  hardly  knowing  why,  she  ac 
cepted  her  mother's  invitation  to  go  with  her  to  the 
barracks  where  Will  was  promenading  the  area  on 
what  Mr.  Werrick  called  "  one  of  his  perennial  pun 
ishment  tours."  She  went,  of  course ;  but  the  distant 
sight  of  poor  Will,  duly  equipped  as  a  sentry,  dismally 
tramping  up  and  down  the  asphalt,  added  fuel  to  the 
inward  fire  that  consumed  her.  The  mother's  heart, 
too,  yearned  over  her  boy, — a  victim  to  cruel  regula 
tions  and  crueler  task-masters.  "  What  was  the  use 
of  the  government's  enticing  young  men  away  from 
their  comfortable  homes,"  Mrs.  McKay  had  once  in- 


144       FROM  «  THE  POINT'1   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

dignantly  written,  "unless  it  could  make  them  happy?" 
It  was  a  question  the  "  tactical  department"  could  not 
answer,  but  it  thought  volumes. 

But  now  evening  had  come,  and  with  it  Mr.  Stanley's 
card.  Nan's  heart  gave  a  bound,  but  she  went  down 
stairs  with  due  deliberation.  She  had  his  card  in  her 
hand  as  she  reached  the  hall,  and  was  twisting  it  in 
her  fingers.  Yes.  There  he  stood  on  the  north  piazza, 
Pennock  with  him,  and  one  or  two  others  of  the  grad 
uating  class.  They  were  chatting  laughingly  with 
Miss  Stanley,  "  Miss  Mischief,"  a  bevy  of  girls,  and  a 
matron  or  two,  but  she  knew  well  his  eyes  would  be 
on  watch  for  her.  They  were.  He  saw  her  instantly ; 
bowed,  smiled,  but,  to  her  surprise,  continued  his  con 
versation  with  a  lady  seated  near  the  door.  What 
could  it  mean  ?  Irresolute  she  stood  there  a  moment, 
waiting  for  him  to  come  forward  ;  but  though  she  saw 
that  twice  his  eyes  sought  hers,  he  was  still  bending 
courteously  and  listening  to  the  voluble  words  of  the 
somewhat  elderly  dame  who  claimed  his  attention. 
Nan  began  to  rebel  against  that  woman  from  the  bottom 
of  her  heart.  What  was  she  to  do?  Here  was  his 
card.  In  response  she  had  come  down  to  receive  him. 
She  meant  to  be  very  cool  from  the  first  moment ;  to 
provoke  him  to  inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  such  unusual 
conduct,  and  then  to  upbraid  him  for  his  disloyalty  to 
her  brother.  She  certainly  meant  that  he  should  feel 
the  weight  of  her  displeasure ;  but  then — then — after 
he  had  been  made  to  suffer,  if  he  was  properly  contrite, 
and  said  so,  and  looked  it,  and  begged  to  be  forgiven, 
why  then,  perhaps  she  might  be  brought  to  condone  it 
in  a  measure  and  be  good  friends  again.  It  was  clearly 


FROM  "  THE  POINT  TO    THE  PLAINS."       145 

his  duty,  however,  to  come  and  greet  her,  not  hers  to 
go  to  the  laughing  group.  The  old  lady  was  the  only 
one  among  them  whom  she  did  not  know, — a  new  ar 
rival.  Just  then^Miss  Stanley  looked  round,  saw  hei, 
and  signalled  smilingly  to  her  to  come  and  join  them. 
Slowly  she  walked  towards  the  little  party,  still  twirling 
the  card  in  her  taper  fingers. 

"  Looking  for  anybody,  Nan  ?"  blithely  hails  "  Miss 
Mischief."  "  Who  is  it?  I  see  you  have  his  card." 

For  once  Nannie's  voice  fails  her,  and  she  knows 
not  what  to  say.  Before  she  can  frame  an  answer 
there  is  a  rustle  of  skirts  and  a  light  foot-fall  behind 
her,  and  she  hears  the  voice  of  a  girl  whom  she  never 
has  liked  one  bit. 

"  Oh  !  You're  here,  are  you,  Mr.  Stanley  !  Why, 
I've  been  waiting  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Did 
you  send  up  your  card  ?" 

"  I  did  ;  full  ten  minutes  ago.  Was  it  not  brought 
to  your  room  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  I've  been  sitting  there  writing,  and 
only  came  down  because  I  had  promised  Mr.  Fearn 
that  he  should  have  ten  minutes,  and  it  is  nearly  his 
time  now.  Where  do  you  suppose  they  could  have 
sent  it?" 

Poor  little  Nan  !  It  has  been  a  hard  day  for  her, 
but  this  is  just  too  much.  She  turns  quickly,  and, 
hardly  knowing  whither  she  goes,  dodges  past  the  party 
of  cadets  and  girls  now  blocking  the  stairway  and  pre 
venting  flight  to  her  room,  hurries  out  the  south  door 
and  around  to  the  west  piazza,  and  there,  leaning 
against  a  pillar,  is  striving  to  hide  her  blazing  cheeks, — 
all  in  less  than  a  minute. 

G        k  13 


146       FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO  THE  PLAINS. 

Stanley  sees  through  the  entire  situation  with  the 
quick  intuition  of  a  lover.  She  has  not  treated  him 
kindly  of  late.  She  has  been  capricious  and  unjust  on 
several  occasions,  but  there  is  no  time  to  think  of  that 
now.  She  is  in  distress,  and  that  is  more  than  enough 
for  him. 

"  Here  comes  Mr.  Fearn  himself  to  claim  his  walk, 
so  I  will  go  and  find  out  about  the  card,"  he  says,  and 
blesses  that  little  rat  of  a  bell-boy  as  he  hastens  away. 

Out  on  the  piazza  he  finds  her  alone,  yet  with  half 
a  dozen  people  hovering  nigh.  The  hush  of  twilight 
is  over  the  beautiful  old  Point.  The  moist  breath  of 
the  coming  night,  cool  and  sweet,  floats  down  upon 
them  from  the  deep  gorges  on  the  rugged  flank  of  Cro' 
Nest,  and  rises  from  the  thickly  lacing  branches  of  tho 
cedars  on  the  river-bank  below.  A  flawless  mirror  in 
its  grand  and  reflected  framework  of  cliff  and  crag  and 
beetling  precipice,  the  Hudson  stretches  away  north 
ward  unruffled  by  the  faintest  cat's-paw  of  a  breeze. 
Far  beyond  the  huge  black  battlements  of  Storm  King 
and  the  purpled  scaur  of  Breakneck  the  night  lights 
of  the  distant  city  are  twinkling  through  the  gathering 
darkness,  and  tiny  dots  of  silvery  flame  down  in  the 
cool  depths  beneath  them  reflect  the  faint  glimmer 
from  the  cloudless  heaven  where — 

"  The  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky." 

The  hush  of  the  sacred  hour  has  fallen  on  every  lip 
save  those  of  the  merry  party  in  the  hall,  where  laugh 
and  chatter  and  flaring  gas-light  bid  defiance  to  in 
fluences  such  as  hold  their  sway  over  souls  brought 


FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PlAJNS.       147 

face  to  face  with  Nature  in  this,  her  loveliest  haunt  on 
earth. 

Phil  Stanley's  heart  is  throbbing  as  he  steps  quickly 
to  her  side.  Well,  indeed,  she  knows  his  foot-fall ; 
knows  he  is  coming;  almost  knows  why  he  comes. 
She  is  burning  with  a  sense  of  humiliation,  wounded 
pride,  maidenly  wrath,  and  displeasure.  All  day  long 
everything  has  gone  agley.  Could  she  but  flee  to  her 
room  and  hide  her  flaming  cheeks  and  cry  her  heart 
out,  it  would  be  relief  inexpressible,  but  her  retreat  is 
cut  off.  She  cannot  escape.  She  cannot  face  those 
keen-eyed  watchers  in  the  hall- ways.  Oh  !  it  is  almost 
maddening  that  she  should  have  been  so — so  fooled  ! 
Every  one  must  know  she  came  down  to  meet  Phil 
Stanley  when  his  card  was  meant  for  another  girl, — 
that  girl  of  all  others !  All  aflame  with  indignation 
as  she  is,  she  yet  means  to  freeze  him  if  she  can  only 
control  herself. 

"  Miss  Nannie,"  he  murmurs,  quick  and  low,  "  I  see 
that  a  blunder  has  been  made,  but  I  don't  believe  the 
others  saw  it.  Give  me  just  a  few  minutes.  Come 
down  the  walk  with  me.  I  cannot  talk  with  you  here 
— now,  and  there  is  so  much  I  want  to  say."  He 
bends  over  her  pleadingly,  but  her  eyes  are  fixed  far 
away  up  the  dark  wooded  valley  beyond  the  white 
shafts  of  the  cemetery,  gleaming  in  the  first  beams  of 
the  rising  moon.  She  makes  no  reply  for  a  moment. 
She  does  not  withdraw  them  when  finally  she  answers, 
impressively, — 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Stanley,  *but  I  must  be  excused 
from  interfering  with  your  engagements." 

"  There  is  no  engagement  now,"  he  promptly  replies; 


148       FROM  "  THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"  and  I  greatly  want  to  speak  with  you.  Have  you 
been  quite  kind  to  me  of  late?  Have  I  not  a  right 
to  know  what  has  brought  about  the  change  ?" 

u  You  do  not  seem  to  have  sought  opportunity  to 
inquire," — very  cool  and  dignified  now. 

"  Pardon  me.  Three  times  this  week  I  have  asked 
for  a  walk,  and  you  have  had  previous  engagements." 

She  has  torn  to  bits  and  thrown  away  the  card  that 
was  in  her  hand.  Now  she  is  tugging  at  the  bunch  of 
bell  buttons,  each  graven  with  the  monogram  of  some 
cadet  friend,  that  hangs  as  usual  by  its  tiny  golden 
chain.  She  wants  to  say  that  he  has  found  speedy 
consolation  in  the  society  of  "  that  other  girl"  of  whom 
Mr.  Werrick  spoke,  but  not  for  the  world  would  she 
seem  jealous. 

"  You  could  have  seen  me  this  afternoon,  had  there 
been  any  matters  you  wished  explained,"  she  says.  "  I 
presume  you  were  more  agreeably  occupied." 

"  I  find  no  delight  in  formal  visits,"  he  answers, 
quietly ;  "  but  my  sister  wished  to  return  calls  and 
asked  me  to  show  her  about  the  post." 

Then  it  was  his  sister.  Not  "  that  other  girl !" 
Still  she  must  not  let  him  see  it  makes  her  glad.  She 
needs  a  pretext  for  her  wrath.  She  must  make  him 
feel  it  in  some  way.  This  is  not  at  all  in  accordance 
with  the  mental  private  rehearsals  she  has  been  having. 
There  is  still  that  direful  matter  of  Will's  report  for 
"  shouting  from  window  of  barracks,"  and  "  Miss  Mis 
chief's"  equally  direful  report  of  Mr.  Stanley's  remarks 
thereon. 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  loyal  friend  of  Willy's,"  she 
says,  turning  suddenly  upon  him. 


FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       149 

"  I  was — and  am,"  he  answers  simply. 

"  And  yet  I'm  told  you  said  it  was  all  his  own  fault, 
and  that  you  yourself  would  have  given  him  the  report 
that  so  nearly  '  found  him  on  demerit.7  A  report  on 
suspicion,  too,"  she  adds,  with  scorn  in  her  tone. 

Mr.  Stanley  is  silent  a  moment. 

"  You  have  heard  a  very  unfair  account  of  my 
words,"  he  says  at  last.  "  I  have  volunteered  no 
opinions  on  the  subject.  In  answer  to  direct  question 
I  have  said  that  it  was  not  justifiable  to  call  that  a 
report  on  suspicion." 

"  But  you  said  you  would  have  given  it  yourself." 

"  I  said  that,  as  officer  of  the  day,  I  would  have  been 
compelled  to  do  so.  I  could  not  have  signed  my  cer 
tificate  otherwise." 

She  turns  away  in  speechless  indignation.  What 
makes  it  all  well-nigh  intolerable  is  that  he  is  by  no 
means  on  the  defensive.  He  is  patient,  gentle,  but 
decidedly  superior.  Not  at  all  what  she  wanted.  Not 
at  all  eager  to  explain,  argue,  or  implore.  Not  at  all 
the  tearful  penitent  she  has  pictured  in  her  plans.  She 
must  bring  him  to  a  realizing  sense  of  the  enormity  of 
his  conduct.  Disloyalty  to  Will  is  treason  to  her. 

"  And  yet — you  say  you  have  kept,  and  that  you 
value,  that  knot  of  blue  ribbon  that  I  gave  you — or 
that  you  took — last  summer.  I  did  not  suppose  that 
you  would  so  soon  prove  to  be — no  friend  to  Willy, 

"Or  what,  Miss  Nannie?"  he  asks.  His  face  is 
growing  white,  but  he  controls  the  tremor  in  his  voice. 
She  does  not  see.  Her  eyes  are  downcast  and  her  face 
averted  now,  but  she  goes  on  desperately. 

la* 


150       FROM  «  THE  POINT'1    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"  Well,  never  mind  that  now ;  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  such  friendship  is — simply  worthless." 

She  has  taken  the  plunge  and  said  her  say,  but 
the  last  words  are  spoken  with  sinking  inflection,  fol 
lowed  instantly  by  a  sinking  heart.  He  makes  no 
answer  whatever.  She  dares  not  look  up  into  his  face 
to  see  the  effect  of  her  stab.  He  stands  there  silent 
only  an  instant ;  then  raises  his  cap,  turns,  and  leaves 
her. 

Sunday  comes  and  goes  without  a  sight  of  him  ex 
cept  in  the  line  of  officers  at  parade.  That  night  she 
goes  early  to  her  room,  and  on  the  bureau  finds  a  little 
box  securely  tied,  sealed,  and  addressed  to  her  in  his 
well-known  hand.  It  contains  a  note  and  some  soft 
object  carefully  wrapped  in  tissue-paper.  The  note  is 
brief  enough : 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  part  with  this,  for  it  is  all  I  have 
that  was  yours  to  give,  but  even  this  must  be  returned 
to  you  after  what  you  said  last  night. 

"  Miss  Nannie,  you  may  some  time  think  more  highly 
of  my  friendship  for  your  brother  than  you  do  now, 
and  then,  perhaps,  will  realize  that  you  were  very 
unjust.  Should  that  time  come  I  shall  be  glad  to  have 
this  again." 

It  was  hardly  necessary  to  open  the  little  packet  as 
she  did.  She  knew  well  enough  it  could  contain  onlv 
that 

"  Knot  of  ribbon  blue." 


FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE   PLAINS. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"THE  WOMAN  TEMPTED  ME." 

JUNE  is  here.  The  examinations  are  in  full  blast. 
The  Point  is  thronged  with  visitors  and  every  hostelrie 
in  the  neighborhood  has  opened  wide  its  doors  to  ac 
commodate  the  swarms  of  people  interested  in  the 
graduating  exercises  and  eager  for  the  graduating  ball. 
Pretty  girls  there  are  in  force,  and  at  Craney's  they  are 
living  three  and  four  in  a  room ;  the  joy  of  being 
really  there  on  the  Point,  near  the  cadets,  aroused  by 
the  morning  gun  and  shrill  piping  of  the  reveille, 
saluted  hourly  by  the  notes  of  the  bugle,  enabled  to 
see  the  gray  uniforms  half  a  dozen  times  a  day  and  to 
actually  speak  or  walk  with  the  wearers  half  an  hour 
out  of  twenty-four  whole  ones,  being  apparent  compen 
sation  for  any  crowding  or  discomfort.  Indeed,  crowded 
as  they  are,  the  girls  at  Craney's  are  objects  of  bound 
less  envy  to  those  whom  the  Fates  have  consigned  to 
the  resorts  down  around  the  picturesque  but  distant 
"Falls."  There  is  a  little  coterie  at  "Hawkshurst" 
that  is  fiercely  jealous  of  the  sisterhood  in  the  favored 
nook  at  the  north  edge  of  the  Plain,  and  one  of  their 
number,  who  is  believed  to  have  completely  subjugated 
that  universal  favorite,  Cadet  McKay,  has  been  heard 
to  say  that  she  thought  it  an  outrage  that  they  had  to 
come  home  so  early  in  the  evening  and  mope  away  the 
time  without  a  single  cadet,  when  up  there  at  Craney's 


152       FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

the  halls  and  piazzas  wero  full  of  gray-coats  and  bell 
buttons  every  night  until  tattoo. 

A  very  brilliant  and  pretty  girl  she  is,  too,  and 
neither  Mrs.  McKay  nor  Nannie  can  wonder  at  it  that 
Will's  few  leisure  moments  are  monopolized.  "  You 
are  going  to  have  me  all  to  yourself  next  week,  little 
mother,"  he  laughingly  explains ;  "  and  goodness  knows 
when  I'm  going  to  see  Miss  Waring  again."  And 
though  neither  mother  nor  sister  is  at  all  satisfied  with 
the  state  of  affairs,  both  are  too  unselfish  to  interpose. 
How  many  an  hour  have  mothers  and,  sometimes, 
sisters  waited  in  loneliness  at  the  old  hotel  for  boys  whom 
some  other  fellow's  sister  was  holding  in  silken  fetters 
somewhere  down  in  shady  t(  Flirtation  !" 

It  was  with  relief  inexpressible  that  Mrs.  McKay 
and  Uncle  Jack  had  hailed  the  coming  of  the  1st  of 
June.  With  a  margin  of  only  two  demerits  Will  had 
safely  weathered  the  reefs  and  was  practically  safe, — 
safe  at  last.  He  had  passed  brilliantly  in  engineering; 
had  been  saved  by  his  prompt  and  ready  answers  the 
consequences  of  a  "fess"  with  clean  black-board  in 
ordnance  and  gunnery;  had  won  a  ringing,  though 
involuntary,  round  of  applause  from  the  crowded  gal 
leries  of  the  riding-hall  by  daring  horsemanship,  and 
he  was  now  within  seven  days  of  the  prized  diploma 
and  his  commission.  "  For  heaven's  sake,  Billy," 
pleaded  big  Burton,  the  first  captain,  "don't  do  any 
thing  to  ruin  your  chances  now  !  I've  just  been  talk 
ing  with  your  mother  and  Miss  Nannie,  and  I  declare 
I  never  saw  that  little  sister  of  yours  looking  so  white 
and  worried." 

McKay  laughs,  yet  his  laugh  is  not  light-hearted, 


FROM:  «  THE  POINT"  TO  THE  PLAINS.     153 

He  wonders  if  Burton  has  the  faintest  intuition  that  afc 
this  moment  he  is  planning  an  escapade  that  means 
nothing  short  of  dismissal  if  detected.  Down  in  the 
bottom  of  his  soul  he  knows  he  is  a  fool  to  have  made 
the  rash  and  boastful  pledge  to  which  he  now  stands 
committed.  Yet  he  has  never  "  backed  out'7  before, 
and  now — he  would  dare  a  dozer-  dismissals  rather 
than  that  she  should  have  a  chance  to  say,  "  I  knew 
you  would  not  come." 

That  very  afternoon,  just  after  the  ride  in  the  hall 
before  the  Board  of  Visitors,  Miss  Waring  had  been 
pathetically  lamenting  that  with  another  week  they 
were  to  part,  and  that  she  had  seen  next  to  nothing  of 
him  since  her  arrival. 

"  If  you  only  could  get  down  to  Hawkshurst !"  snt> 
cried.  "  I'm  sure  when  my  cousin  Frank  was  in  the 
corps  he  used  to  '  run  it7  down  to  Cozzens's  to  see 
Cousin  Kate, — and  that  was  what  made  her  Cousin 
Kate  to  me,"  she  adds,  with  sudden  dropping  of  the 
eyelids  that  is  wondrously  effective. 

"  Easily  done !"  recklessly  answers  McKay,  whose 
boyish  heart  is  set  to  hammer-like  beating  by  the 
closing  sentence.  "  I  didn't  know  you  sat  up  so  late 
there,  or  I  would  have  come  before.  Of  course  I  have 
to  be  here  at  '  taps.7  No  one  can  escape  that." 

"  Oh, — but  really,  Mr.  McKay,  I  did  not  mean  it !  I 
would  not  have  you  run  such  a  risk  for  worjds !  I 
meant — some  other  way."  And  so  she  protests,  al 
though  her  eyes  dance  with  excitement  and  delight. 
What  a  feather  this  in  her  cap  of  coquetry !  What  a 
triumph  over  the  other  girls, — especially  that  hateful 
set  at  Crauey's !  What  a  delicious  confidence  to  impart 


154       FROM  "  THE  POINT'1   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

to  all  the  little  coterie  at  Hawkshurst!  How  they 
must  envy  her  the  romance,  the  danger,  the  daring, 
the  devotion  of  such  an  adventure — for  her  sake !  Of 
late  years  such  tales  had  been  rare.  Girls  worth  the 
winning  simply  would  not  permit  so  rash  a  project, 
ind  their  example  carried  weight.  But  here  at 
"  Hawkshurst"  was  a  lively  young  brood,  chaperoned 
by  a  matron  as  wild  as  her  charges  and  but  little  older, 
and  eager  one  and  all  for  any  glory  or  distinction  that 
could  pique  the  pride  or  stir  the  envy  of  "  that  Craney 
set."  It  was  too  much  for  a  girl  of  Sallie  Waring's 
type.  Her  eyes  have  a  dangerous  gleam,  her  cheeks  a 
witching  glow ;  she  clings  tighter  to  his  arm  as  she 
looks  up  in  his  face. 

"And  yet — wouldn't  it  be  lovely? — To  think  of  see 
ing  you  there ! — are  you  sure  there'd  be  no  danger  ?" 

"  Be  on  the  north  piazza  about  quarter  of  eleven,"  is 
the  prompt  reply.  "  I'll  wear  a  dark  suit,  eye-glass, 
brown  moustache,  etc.  Call  me  Mr.  Freeman  while 
strangers  are  around.  There  goes  the  parade  drum. 
Au  revoir!"  and  he  darts  away.  Cadet  Captain  Stanley, 
inspecting  his  company  a  few  moments  later,  stops  in 
front  and  gravely  rebukes  him, — 

"  You  are  not  properly  shaved,  McKay." 

"I  shaved  this  morning,"  is  the  somewhat  sullen 
reply,  while  an  angry  flush  shoots  up  towards  the  blue 
eyes. 

"  No  razor  has  touched  your  upper  lip,  however,  and 
I  expect  the  class  to  observe  regulations  in  this  com 
pany,  demerit  or  no  demerit,"  is  the  firm,  quiet  answer, 
and  the  young  captain  passes  on  to  the  next  man.  Mc 
Kay  grits  his  teeth. 


FROM  "THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS.       155 

"  Only  a  week  more  of  it,  thank  God  !"  he  mutters, 
when  sure  that  Stanley  is  beyond  ear-shot. 

Three  hours  more  and  "  taps"  is  sounded.  All  along 
the  brilliant  facade  of  barracks  there  is  sudden  and 
Bimultaneous  "  dousing  of  the  glim"  and  a  rush  of  the 
cadets  to  their  narrow  nests.  There  is  a  minute  of 
banging  doors  and  hurrying  footsteps,  and  gruff  queries 
of  "All  in?"  as  the  cadet  officers  flit  from  room  to 
room  in  each  division  to  see  that  lights  are  out  and 
every  man  in  bed.  Then  forth  they  come  from  every 
hall-way;  tripping  lightly  down  the  stone  steps  and 
converging  on  the  guard-house,  where  stand  at  the 
door-way  the  dark  forms  of  the  officer  in  charge  and  the 
cadet  officer  of  the  day.  Each  in  turn  halts,  salutes, 
and  makes  his  precise  report ;  and  when  the  last  sub 
division  is  reported,  the  executive  officer  is  assured  that 
the  battalion  of  cadets  is  present  in  barracks,  and  at  the 
moment  of  inspection  at  least,  in  bed.  Presumably 
they  remain  so. 

Two  minutes  after  inspection,  however,  Mr.  McKay 
is  out  of  bed  again  and  fumbling  about  in  his  alcove. 
His  room-mate  sleepily  inquires  from  beyond  the  par 
tition  what  he  wants  in  the  dark,  but  is  too  long 
accustomed  to  his  vagaries  to  expect  definite  infor 
mation.  When  Mr.  McKay  slips  softly  out  into  the 
hall,  after  careful  reconnaissance  of  the  guard-house 
windows,  his  chum  is  soundly  asleep  and  dreaming 
of  no  worse  freak  on  Billy's  part  than  a  raid  around 
barracks. 

It  is  so  near  graduation  that  the  rules  are  relaxed, 
and  in  every  first  classman's  room  the  tailor's  handi 
work  is  hanging  among  the  gray  uniforms.  It  is  a 


156       FROM  "THE  POINT1    TO    THE  PLAINS. 

dark  suit  of  this  civilian  dress  that  Billy  dons  as  he 
emerges  from  the  blankets.  A  natty  Derby  is  perched 
upon  his  curly  pate,  and  a  monocle  hangs  by  its  string. 
But  he  cannot  light  his  gas  and  arrange  the  soft  brown 
moustache  with  which  he  proposes  to  decorate  his  upper 
lip.  He  must  run  into  Stanley's, — the  "  tower"  room, 
at  the  north  end  of  his  hall. 

Phil  looks  up  from  the  copy  of  "  Military  Law" 
which  he  is  diligently  studying.  As  "  inspector  of 
subdivision,"  his  light  is  burned  until  eleven. 

"You  do  make  an  uncommonly  swell  young  cit, 
Billy,"  he  says,  pleasantly.  "  Doesn't  he,  Mack  ?"  he 
continues,  appealing  to  his  room-mate,  who,  lying  flat 
on  his  back  with  his  head  towards  the  light  and  a  pair 
of  muscular  legs  in  white  trousers  displayed  on  top  of 
a  pile  of  blankets,  is  striving  to  make  out  the  vacancies 
in  a  recent  Army  Register.  "  Mack"  rolls  over  and 
lazily  expresses  his  approval. 

"  I'd  do  pretty  well  if  I  had  my  moustache  out ;  I 
meant  to  get  the  start  of  you  fellows,  but  you're  so 
meanly  jealous,  you  blocked  the  game,  Stan." 

All  the  rancor  is  gone  now.  He  well  knows  that 
Stanley  was  right. 

"Sorry  to  have  had  to  '  row'  you  about  that,  Billy," 
says  the  captain,  gently.  "  You  know  I  can't  let  one 
man  go  and  not  a  dozen  others." 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all !  What's  the  difference  when 
time's  so  nearly  up?"  responds  McKay,  as  he  goes 
over  to  the  little  wood-framed  mirror  that  stands  on 
the  iron  mantel.  "  Here's  a  substitute,  though  !  How's 
this  for  a  moustache  ?"  he  asks,  as  he  turns  and  faces 
them.  Then  he  starts  for  the  door.  Almost  in  an  in- 


t'ROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       157 

stant  Stanley  is  up  and  after  him.     Just  at  the  head 
of  the  iron  stairs  he  hails  and  halts  him. 

"  Billy  !     You  are  not  going  out  of  barracks?" 

Unwillingly  McKay  yields  to  the  pressure  of  the 
firm  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  turns. 

"Suppose  I  were,  Stanley.  What  danger  is  there? 
Lee  inspected  last  night,  and  even  he  wouldn't  make 
such  a  plan  to  trip  me.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  '  tack's' 
inspecting  after  taps  two  successive  nights?" 

"  There's  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  done,  and 
several  reasons  why  it  should,"  is  the  uncompromising 
reply.  u  Don't  risk  your  commission  now.  Billy,  in 
any  mad  scheme.  Come  back  and  take  those  things 
off.  Come !" 

"  Blatherskite !  Don't  hang  on  to  me  like  a  pick 
pocket,  Stan.  Let  me  go,"  says  McKay,  half  vexed, 
half  laughing.  "  I've  got  to  go,  man,"  he  says,  more 
seriously.  "  I've  promised." 

A  sudden  light  seems  to  come  to  Stanley.  Even  in 
the  feeble  gleam  from  the  gas-jet  in  the  lower  hall 
McKay  can  see  the  look  of  consternation  that  shoots 
across  his  face. 

"  You  don't  mean — you're  not  going  down  to  Hawks- 
hurst,  Billy?" 

"  Why  not  to  Hawkshurst,  if  anywhere  at  all  ?"  is 
the  sullen  reply. 

"  Why  ?  Because  you  are  risking  your  whole  future, 
— your  profession,  your  good  name,  McKay.  You're 
risking  your  mother's  heart  for  the  sport  of  a  girl  who 
is  simply  toying  with  you " 

"Take  care,  Stanley.  Say  what  you  like  to  me 
about  myself,  but  not  a  word  about  her." 

14 


158       FROM  "  THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"This  is  no  time  for  sentiment,  McKay.  I  have 
known  Miss  Waring  three  years ;  you,  perhaps  three 
weeks.  I  tell  you  solemnly  that  if  she  has  tempted 
you  to  '  run  it?  down  there  to  see  her  it  is  simply  to 
boast  of  a  new  triumph  to  the  silly  pack  by  whom  she 
is  surrounded.  I  tell  you  she " 

"  You  tell  me  nothing !  I  don't  allow  any  man  to 
speak  in  that  way  of  a  woman  who  is  my  friend,"  says 
Billy,  with  much  majesty  of  mien.  u  Take  your  hand 
off,  Stanley,"  he  adds,  coldly.  "  I  might  have  had 
some  respect  for  your  counsel  if  you  had  had  the 
least — for  my  feelings."  And  wrenching  his  shoulder 
away,  McKay  speeds  quickly  down  the  stairs,  leaving 
his  comrade  speechless  and  sorrowing  in  the  darkness 
above. 

In  the  lower  hall  he  stops  and  peers  cautiously  over 
towards  the  guard-house.  The  lights  are  burning  bril 
liantly  up  in  the  room  of  the  officer  in  charge,  and  the 
red  sash  of  the  officer  of  the  day  shows  through  the 
open  door-way  beneath.  Now  is  his  time,  for  there  is 
no  one  looking.  One  quick  leap  through  the  dim 
stream  of  light  from  the  lantern  at  his  back  and  he 
will  be  in  the  dark  area,  and  can  pick  his  noiseless  way 
to  the  shadows  beyond.  It  is  an  easy  thing  to  gain  the 
foot-path  beyond  the  old  retaining  wall  back  of  the 
guard-house,  scud  away  under  the  trees  along  the  wind 
ing  ascent  towards  Fort  Putnam,  until  he  meets  the 
back-road  half-way  up  the  heights ;  then  turn  south 
ward  through  the  rocky  cuts  and  forest  aisles  until  he 
reaches  the  main  highway;  then  follow  on  through  the 
beautiful  groves,  through  the  quiet  village,  across  the 
bridge  that  spans  the  stream  above  the  falls,  and  then, 


FROM  "  THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS.       159 

only  a  few  hundred  yards  beyord,  there  lies  Hawkshurst 
and  its  bevy  of  excited,  whispering,  applauding,  de 
lighted  girls.  If  he  meet  officers,  all  he  has  to  do  is 
put  on  a  bold  face  and  trust  to  his  disguise.  He  means 
to  have  a  glorious  time  and  be  back,  tingling  with  sat 
isfaction  on  his  exploit,  by  a  little  after  midnight.  In 
five  minutes  his  quarrel  with  Stanley  is  forgotten,  and, 
all  alert  and  eager,  he  is  half-way  up  the  heights  and 
out  of  sight  or  hearing  of  the  barracks. 

The  roads  are  well-nigh  deserted.  He  meets  one  6r 
two  squads  of  soldiers  coming  back  from  "  pass"  at  the 
Falls,  but  no  one  else.  The  omnibuses  and  carriages 
bearing  home  those  visitors  who  have  spent  the  evening 
listening  to  the  band  at  the  Point  are  all  by  this  time 
out  of  the  way,  and  it  is  early  for  officers  to  be  re 
turning  from  evening  calls  at  the  lower  hotel.  The 
chances  are  two  to  one  that  he  will  pass  the  village 
without  obstacle  of  any  kind.  Billy's  spirits  rise  with 
the  occasion,  and  he  concludes  that  a  cigarette  is  the 
one  thing  needful  to  complete  his  disguise  and  add  to 
the  general  nonchalance  of  his  appearance.  Having  no 
matches  he  waits  until  he  reaches  the  northern  outskirts 
of  the  Falls,  and  then  steps  boldly  into  the  first  bar  he 
sees  and  helps  himself. 

Coming  forth  again  he  throws  wide  open  the  swing 
ing  screen  doors,  and  a  broad  belt  of  light  is  flashed 
across  the  dusty  highway  just  in  front  of  a  rapidly- 
driven  carriage  coming  north.  The  mettlesome  horses 
swerve  and  shy.  The  occupants  are  suddenly  whirled 
from  their  reposeful  attitudes,  though,  fortunately,  not 
from  their  seats.  A  "  top  hat"  goes  spinning  out  into 
the  roadway,  and  a  fan  flies  through  the  midst  of  the 


160       FROM  "  THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

glare.  The  driver  promptly  checks  his  team  and  backa 
them  just  as  Billy,  all  impulsive  courtesy,  leaps  out 
into  the  street;  picks  up  the  hat  with  one  hand,  the 
fan  with  the  other,  and  restores  them  with  a  bow  to 
their  owners.  Only  in  the  nick  of  time  does  he  rec 
ollect  himself  and  crush  down  the  jovial  impulse  to 
hail  by  name  Colonel  Stanley  and  his  daughter  Miriam. 
The  sight  of  a  cavalry  uniform  and  Lieutenant  Lee's 
tall  figure  on  the  forward  seat  has,  however,  its  re 
straining  influence,  and  he  turns  quickly  away — un 
recognized. 

But  alas  for  Billy!  Only  two  days  before  had  the 
distribution  been  made,  and  every  man  in  the  gradu 
ating  class  was  already  wearing  the  beautiful  token  of 
their  brotherhood.  The  civilian  garb,  the  Derby  hat, 
the  monocle,  the  stick,  the  cigarette,  and  the  false  mous 
tache  were  all  very  well  in  their  way,  but  in  the  beam 
of  light  from  the  windows  of  that  ill-starred  saloon 
there  flashed  upon  his  hand  a  gem  that  two  pairs  of 
quick,  though  reluctant  eyes  could  not  and  did  not  fail 
to  see, — the  class  ring  of  18  7-. 


CHAPTER    Y. 

A   MIDNIGHT   INSPECTION. 

THERE  was  a  sense  of  constraint  among  the  occu 
pants  of  Colonel  Stanley's  carriage  as  they  were  driven 
back  to  the  Point.  They  had  been  calling  on  old 
friends  of  his  among  the  pretty  villas  below  the  Falls ; 
had  been  chatting  joyously  until  that  sudden  swerve 


FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS. 

that  pitched  the  colonel's  hat  and  Miriam's  fan  into 
the  dust,  and  the  veteran  cavalryman  could  not  account 
for  the  lull  that  followed.  Miriam  had  instantly  grasped 
the  situation.  All  her  father's  stories  of  cadet  days  had 
enabled  her  to  understand  at  once  that  here  was  a  cadet 
— a  classmate  of  Philip's — "running  it"  in  disguise. 
Mr.  Lee,  of  course,  needed  no  information  on  the  sub 
ject.  What  she  hoped  was,  that  he  had  not  seen  ;  but 
the  cloud  on  his  frank,  handsome  face  still  hovered 
there,  and  she  knew  him  too  well  not  to  see  that  he 
understood  everything.  And  now  what  was  his  duty  ? 
Something  told  her  that  an  inspection  of  barracks  would 
be  made  immediately  upon  his  return  to  the  Point,  and 
in  that  way  the  name  of  the  absentee  be  discovered. 
She  knew  the  regulation  every  cadet  was  expected  to 
obey  and  every  officer  on  honor  to  enforce.  She  knew 
that  every  cadet  found  absent  from  his  quarters  after 
taps  was  called  upon  by  the  commandant  for  prompt 
account  of  his  whereabouts,  and  if  unable  to  say  that 
he  was  on  cadet  limits  during  the  period  of  his  absence, 
dismissal  stared  him  in  the  face. 

The  colonel  did  most  of  the  talking  on  the  way  back 
to  the  south  gate.  Once  within  the  portals  he  called  to 
the  driver  to  stop  at  the  Mess.  "  I'm  thirsty,"  said  the 
jovial  warrior,  "and  I  want  a  julep  and  a  fresh  cigar. 
You,  too,  might  have  a  claret  punch,  Mi  mi ;  you  are 
drooping  a  little  to-night.  What  is  it,  daughter, — 
tired?" 

"  Yes,  tired  and  a  little  headachy."     Then  sudden 

thought  occurs  to  her.     "  If  you  don't  mind  I  think  I 

will  go  right  on  to  the  hotel.     Then  you  and  Mr.  Lee 

can  enjoy  your  cigars  at  leisure."      She  knows  well 

I  14* 


162       FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

that  Romney  Lee  is  just  the  last  man  to  let  her  drive 
on  unescorted.  She  can  hold  him  ten  or  fifteen  min 
utes,  at  least,  and  by  that  time  if  the  reckless  boy  down 
the  road  has  taken  warning  and  scurried  back  he  can 
reach  the  barracks  before  inspection  is  made. 

"Indeed,  Miss  Miriam,  I'm  not  to  be  disposed  of  so 
summarily,"  he  promptly  answers.  "  I'll  see  you  safely 
to  the  hotel.  You'll  excuse  me,  colonel  ?" 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  Lee.  I  suppose  I'll  see  you 
later,"  responds  the  veteran.  They  leave  him  at  the 
Mess  and  resume  their  way,  and  Lee  takes  the  vacated 
seat  by  her  side.  There  is  something  he  longs  to  say 
to  her, — something  that  has  been  quivering  on  his  lips 
and  throbbing  at  his  heart  for  many  a  long  day.  She 
is  a  queenly  woman, — this  dark-eyed,  stately  army  girl. 
It  is  only  two  years  since,  her  school-days  finished,  she 
has  returned  to  her  father's  roof  on  the  far  frontier  and 
resumed  the  gay  garrison  life  that  so  charmed  her  when 
a  child.  Then  a  loving  mother  had  been  her  guide, 
but  during  her  long  sojourn  at  school  the  blow  had 
fallen  that  so  wrenched  her  father's  heart  and  left  her 
motherless.  Since  her  graduation  she  alone  has  been 
the  joy  of  the  old  soldier's  home,  and  sunshine  and 
beauty  have  again  gladdened  his  life.  She  would  be 
less  than  woman  did  she  not  know  that  here  now  was 
another  soldier,  brave,  courteous,  and  gentle,  who  longed 
to  win  her  from  that  home  to  his  own, — to  call  her  by 
the  sacred  name  of  wife.  See  knew  how  her  father 
trusted  and  Phil  looked  up  to  him.  She  knew  that 
down  in  her  own  heart  of  hearts  there  was  pleading 
for  him  even  now,  but  as  yet  no  word  has  been  spoken. 
She  is  not  the  girl  to  signal,  "  speak,  and  the  prize  is 


FROM  «  THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS.       163 

yours."  He  has  looked  in  vain  for  a  symptom  that 
bids  him  hope  for  more  than  loyal  friendship. 

But  to-night  as  they  reach  the  brightly-lighted  piazza 
at  Craney's  it  is  she  who  bids  him  stay. 

"  Don't  go  just  yet/'  she  falters. 

"  I  feared  you  were  tired  and  wished  to  go  to  your 
room,"  he  answers,  gently. 

"  Would  you  mind  asking  if  there  are  letters  for 
me  ?"  she  says.  It  is  anything  to  gain  time,  and  he 
goes  at  her  behest,  but — oh,  luckless  fate ! — 'tis  a  false 
move. 

She  sees  him  stride  away  through  the  groups  on  the 
piazza  ;  sees  the  commandant  meet  him  with  one  of  his 
assistants ;  sees  that  there  is  earnest  consultation  in  low 
tone,  and  that  then  the  others  hasten  down  the  steps 
and  disappear  in  the  darkness.  She  hears  him  say, 
"  I'll  follow  in  a  moment,  sir,"  and  something  tells  her 
that  what  she  dreads  has  come  to  pass.  Presently  he 
returns  to  her  with  the  information  that  there  are  no 
letters;  then  raises  his  cap,  and,  in  the  old  Southern 
and  cadet  fashion,  extends  his  hand. 

"  You  are  not  going,  Mr.  Lee?"  again  she  falters. 

"  I  have  to,  Miss  Stanley." 

Slowly  she  puts  forth  her  hand  and  li  ys  it  in  his. 

"  I — I  wish  you  did  not  have  to  go.  Tell  me,"  she 
says,  impulsively,  imploringly,  "  are  yo  t  going  to  in 
spect?" 

He  bows  his  head. 

"  It  is  already  ordered,  Miss  Miriam,"  he  says ;  "  I 
must  go  at  once.  Good-night." 

Dazed  and  distressed  she  turns  at  once,  and  is  con 
fronted  by  a  pallid  little  maid  with  wild,  blue  eyes. 


FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Stanley  !"  is  the  wail  that  greets  her.  "  I 
could  not  help  hearing,  and — if  it  should  be  Willy !" 

"  Come  with  me,  Nannie,"  she  whispers,  as  her  arm 
enfolds  her.  "  Come  to  my  room." 

Meantime,  there  has  been  a  breeze  at  the  barracks. 
A  batch  of  yearlings,  by  way  of  celebrating  their  re 
lease  from  plebedom,  have  hit  on  a  time-honored 
scheme.  Just  about  the  same  moment  that  disclosed 
to  the  eyes  of  Lieutenant  Lee  the  class  ring  gleaming 
on  the  finger  of  that  nattily-dressed  young  civilian,  his 
comrade,  the  dozing  officer  in  charge,  was  started  to  his 
feet  by  a  thunder-clap,  a  vivid  flash  that  lighted  up  the 
whole  area  of  barracks,  and  an  explosion  that  rattled 
the  plaster  in  the  guard-house  chimneys.  One  thing 
the  commandant  wouldn't  stand  was  disorder  after 
"taps,"  and,  in  accordance  with  strict  instructions, 
Lieutenant  Lawrence  sent  a  drummer-boy  at  once  to 
find  the  colonel  and  tell  him  what  had  taken  place, 
while  he  himself  stirred  up  the  cadet  officer  of  the  day 
and  began  an  investigation.  Half  the  corps  by  this 
time  were  up  and  chuckling  with  glee  at  their  darkened 
windows ;  and  as  these  subdued  but  still  audible  dem 
onstrations  of  sympathy  and  satisfaction  did  not  cease 
on  his  arrival,  the  colonel  promptly  sent  for  his  entire 
force  of  assistants  to  conduct  the  inspection  already 
ordered.  Already  one  or  two  "  bull's-eyes"  were  flit 
ting  out  from  the  officers'  angle. 

But  the  piece  of  boyish  mischief  that  brings  such 
keen  delight  to  the  youngsters  in  the  battalion  strikes 
terror  to  the  heart  of  Philip  Stanley.  He  knows  all 
too  well  that  an  immediate  inspection  will  be  the  result, 
and  then,  what  is  to  become  of  McKay  ?  With  keen 


FROM  «  THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS.       165 

anxiety,  he  goes  to  the  hall  window  overlooking  the 
area,  and  watches  the  course  of  events.  A  peep  into 
McKay's  room  shows  that  he  is  still  absent  and  that 
his  room-mate,  if  disturbed  at  all  by  the  "  yearling 
fireworks,"  has  gone  to  sleep  again.  "Stanley  sees 
the  commandant  stride  under  the  gas-lamp  in  the  area; 
sees  the  gathering  of  the  "  bull's-eyes,"  and  his  heart 
well-nigh  fails  him.  Still  he  watches  until  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  the  inspection  is  already  begun. 
Then,  half  credulous,  all  delighted,  he  notes  that  it  is 
not  Mr.  Lee,  but  young  Mr.  Lawrence,  the  officer  in 
charge,  who  is  coming  straight  towards  "  B"  Company, 
lantern  in  hand.  Not  waiting  for  the  coming  of  the 
former,  the  colonel  has  directed  another  officer — not  a 
company  commander — to  inspect  for  him. 

There  is  but  one  way  to  save  Billy  now. 

tln  less  than  half  a  minute  Stanley  has  darted  into 
McKay's  room;  has  slung  his  chevroned  coat  under 
the  bed ;  has  slipped  beneath  the  sheet  and  coverlet, 
and  now,  breathlessly,  he  listens.  He  hears  the  inspector 
moving  from  room  to  room  on  the  ground  floor;  hears 
him  spring  up  the  iron  stair;  hears  him  enter  his  own, 
— the  tower  room  at  the  north  end  of  the  hall, — and 
there  he  stops,  surprised,  evidently,  to  find  Cadet  Cap 
tain  Stanley  absent  from  his  quarters.  Then  his  steps 
are  heard  again.  He  enters  the  opposite  room  at  the 
north  end.  That  is  all  right !  and  now  he's  coming 
here.  "  Now  for  it !"  says  Stanley  to  himself,  as  he 
throws  his  white-sleeved  arm  over  his  head  just  as  he 
has  so  often  seen  Billy  do,  and  turning  his  face  to  the 
wall,  burrows  deep  in  the  pillow  and  pulls  the  sheet 
well  up  to  his  chin.  The  door  softly  opens;  the 


166       FROM  "  THE  POINT1'   TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"  bull's-eye"  flashes  its  gleam  first  on  one  bed,  then  on 
the  other.  "  All  right  here,"  is  the  inspector's  mental 
verdict  as  he  pops  out  again  suddenly  as  he  entered. 
Billy  McKay,  the  scapegrace,  is  safe  and  Stanley  has 
time  to  think  over  the  situation. 

At  the  very  worst,  as  he  will  be  able  to  say  he  was 
"  visiting  in  barracks"  when  found  absent,  his  own 
punishment  will  not  be  serious.  But  this  is  not  what 
troubles  him.  Demerit  for  the  graduating  class  ceases 
to  count  after  the  1st  of  June,  and  the  individual  sense 
of  honor  and  duty  is  about  the  only  restraint  against 
lapses  of  discipline.  Stanley  hates  to  think  that  others 
may  now  believe  him  deaf  to  this  obligation.  He 
would  far  rather  have  had  this  happen  when  demerit 
and  "confinements"  in  due  proportion  had  been  his 
award,  but  there  is  no  use  repining.  It  is  a  sacrifice 
to  save — her  brother. 

When  half  an  hour  later  his  classmate,  the  officer  of 
the  day,  enters  the  tower  room  in  search  of  him, 
Stanley  is  there  and  calmly  says,  "I  was  visiting  in 
barracks,"  in  answer  to  his  question  ;  and  finally,  when 
morning  comes,  Mr.  Billy  McKay  nearly  sleeps  through 
reveille  as  a  consequence  of  his  night-prowling;  but 
his  absence,  despite  the  simultaneous  inspection  of 
every  company  in  barracks,  has  not  been  detected. 
With  one  exception  every  bed  has  had  its  apparently 
soundly  sleeping  occupant.  The  young  scamps  who 
caused  all  the  trouble  have  escaped  scot-free,  and  the 
corps  can  hardly  believe  their  own  ears,  and  Billy 
McKay  is  stunned  and  perplexed  when  it  is  noised 
abroad  that  the  only  man  "  hived  absent"  was  the  cap 
tain  of  Company  "  B." 


FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       167 

It  so  happens  that  both  times  he  goes  to  find  Stanley 
that  day  he  misses  him.  "  The  commandant  sent  for 
him  an  hour  ago,"  says  Mr.  McFarland,  his  room-mate, 
"  and  I'm  blessed  if  I  know  what  keeps  him.  Some 
thing  about  last  night's  doings,  I'm  afraid." 

This,  in  itself,  is  enough  to  make  him  worry,  but  the 
next  thing  he  hears  is  worse.  Just  at  evening  call  to 
quarters,  Jim  Burton  comes  to  his  room. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  about  this  report  of 
Stanley's  last  night  ?"  he  asks,  and  McKay,  ordinarily 
so  frank,  is  guarded  now  in  his  reply.  For  half  an 
hour  he  has  been  pacing  his  room  alone.  McFarland's 
revelations  have  set  him  to  thinking.  It  is  evident  that 
the  colonel's  suspicions  are  aroused.  It  is  probable 
that  it  is  known  that  some  cadet  was  "  running  it"  the 
night  before.  From  the  simple  fact  that  he  is  not 
already  in  arrest  he  knows  that  Mr.  Lee  did  not  recog 
nize  him,  yet  the  secret  has  leaked  out  in  some  way, 
and  an  effort  is  being  made  to  discover  the  culprit. 
Already  he  has  begun  to  wonder  if  the  game  was  really 
worth  the  candle.  He  saw  her,  'tis  true,  and  had  half 
an  hour's  whispered  chat  with  her,  interrupted  not  in 
frequently  by  giggling  and  impetuous  rushes  from  the 
other  girls.  They  had  sworn  melodramatically  never 
to  reveal  that  it  was  he  who  came,  but  Billy  begins  to 
have  his  doubts.  "  It  ends  my  career  if  I'm  found 
out,"  he  reflects,  "  whereas  they  can't  do  much  to  Stan 
for  visiting."  And  thus  communing  with  himself,  he 
has  decided  to  guard  his  secret  against  all  comers, — at 
least  for  the  present.  And  so  he  is  non-committal  in 
his  reply  to  Burton. 

"What  about  it?"  he  asks. 


168       FROM  "  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

"  Why,  it's  simply  this,  Billy  :  Little  Magee,  the  fifer, 
is  on  orderly  duty  to-day,  and  he  heard  much  of  the 
talk,  and  I  got  it  out  of  him.  Somebody  was  running 
it  last  night,  and  was  seen  down  by  Cozzens's  gate. 
Stanley  was  the  only  absentee,  hence  Stanley  would 
naturally  be  the  man  suspected,  but  he  says  he  wasn't 
out  of  the  barracks.  The  conclusion  is  inevitable  that 
he  was  filling  the  other  fellow's  place,  and  the  colonel 
is  hopping  mad.  It  looks  as  though  there  were  collu 
sion  between  them.  Now,  Billy,  all  I've  got  to  say  is 
that  the  man  he's  shielding  ought  to  step  forward  and 
relieve  him  at  once.  There  comes  the  sentry  and  I  must 
go." 

Relieve  him?  Yes;  but  what  means  that  for  me? 
thinks  poor  McKay.  Dismissal ;  a  heart  break  for 
mother.  No!  It  is  too  much  to  face ;  he  must  think 
it  over.  He  never  goes  near  Stanley  all  that  night.  He 
fears  to  meet  him,  or  the  morrow.  His  heart  misgives 
him  when  he  is  told  that  there  has  been  a  long  confer 
ence  in  the  office.  He  turns  white  with  apprehension 
when  they  fall  in  for  parade,  and  he  notes  that  it  is 
Phillips,  their  first  lieutenant,  who  draws  sword  and 
takes  command  of  the  company ;  but  a  few  moments 
later  his  heart  gives  one  wild  bound,  then  seems  to  sink 
into  the  ground  beneath  his  feet,  when  the  adjutant 
drops  the  point  of  his  sword,  lets  it  dangle  by  the  gold 
knot  at  his  wrist,  whips  a  folded  paper  from  his  sash, 
and  far  over  the  plain  his  clear  young  voice  proclaims 
the  stern  order : 

"  Cadet  Captain  Stanley  is  hereby  placed  in  arrest 
and  confined  to  his  quarters.  Charge — conniving  at 
concealing  the  absence  of  a  cadet  from  inspection  after 


FROM  "THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PL  4  INS.       169 

'taps/   eleven — eleven-fifteen    P.M.,   on    the    7th    in 
stant. 

"  By  order  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Putnam/' 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   LAST   DANCE. 

THE  blithest  day  of  all  the  year  has  come.  The 
graduating  ball  takes  place  to-night.  The  Point  is 
thronged  with  joyous  visitors,  and  yet  over  all  there 
hovers  a  shadow.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  gayety  and 
congratulation  there  hides  a  core  of  sorrow.  Voices 
lower  and  soft  eyes  turn  in  sympathy  when  certain  sad 
faces  are  seen.  There  is  one  subject  on  which  the  cadets 
simply  refuse  to  talk,  and  there  are  two  of  the  gradu 
ating  class  who  do  not  appear  at  the  hotel  at  all.  One 
is  Mr.  McKay,  whose  absence  is  alleged  to  be  because  of 
confinements  he  has  to  serve ;  the  other  is  Philip  Stan 
ley,  still  in  close  arrest,  and  the  latter  has  cancelled  his 
engagements  for  the  ball. 

There  had  been  a  few  days  in  which  Miss  McKay, 
forgetting  or  having  obtained  absolution  for  her  un 
guarded  remarks  on  the  promenade  deck  of  the  steamer, 
had  begun  to  be  seen  a  great  deal  with  Miss  Stanley. 
She  had  even  blushingly  shaken  hands  with  big  Lieu 
tenant  Lee,  whose  kind  brown  eyes  were  full  of  fun 
and  playfulness  whenever  he  greeted  her.  But  it  was 
noticed  that  something,  all  of  a  sudden,  had  occurred 
to  mar  the  growing  intimacy ;  then  that  the  once  blithe 
H  15 


170       FROM  "THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

little  lady  was  looking  white  and  sorrowful ;  that  she 
avoided  Miss  Stanley  for  two  whole  days,  and  that  her 
blue  eyes  watched  wistfully  for  some  one  who  did  not 
come, — "  Mr.  Stanley,  no  doubt,"  was  the  diagnosis  of 
the  case  by  "  Miss  Mischief"  and  others. 

Then,  like  a  thunder-clap,  came  the  order  for  Phil 
Stanley's  arrest,  and  then  there  were  other  sad  faces. 
Miriam  Stanley's  dark  eyes  were  not  only  troubled,  but 
down  in  their  depths  was  a  gleam  of  suppressed  indig 
nation  that  people  knew  not  how  to  explain.  Colonel 
Stanley,  to  whom  every  one  had  been  drawn  from  the 
first,  now  appeared  very  stern  and  grave  ;  the  joy  had 
vanished  from  his  face.  Mrs.  McKay  was  flitting 
about  the  parlors  tearfully  thankful  that  "  it  wasn't  her 
boy."  Nannie  had  grown  whiter  still,  and  very  "  ab 
sent"  and  silent.  Mr.  Lee  did  not  come  at  all. 

Then  there  was  startling  news  !  An  outbreak,  long 
smouldering,  had  just  occurred  at  the  great  reservation 
of  the  Spirit  Wolf;  the  agent  and  several  of  his  men 
had  been  massacred,  their  women  carried  away  into  a 
captivity  whose  horrors  beggar  all  description,  and  two 
troops — hardly  sixscore  men — of  Colonel  Stanley's 
regiment  were  already  in  pursuit.  Leaving  his  daugh 
ter  to  the  care  of  an  old  friend  at  Craney's,  and  after  a 
brief  interview  with  his  boy  at  barracks,  the  old  soldier 
who  had  come  eastward  with  such  glad  anticipation 
turned  promptly  back  to  the  field  of  duty.  He  had 
taken  the  first  train  and  was  already  beyond  the  Mis 
souri.  Almost  immediately  after  the  colonel's  depart 
ure  Mr.  Lee  had  come  to  the  hotel  and  was  seen  to 
have  a  brief  but  earnest  talk  with  Miss  Stanley  on  the 
north  piazza, — a  talk  from  which  she  had  gone  direct 


FROM  "  THE  POINT11    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

to  her  room  and  did  not  reappear  for  hours,  while  he, 
who  usually  had  a  genial,  kindly  word  for  every  one, 
had  turned  abruptly  down  the  north  steps  as  though  to 
avoid  the  crowded  halls  and  piazzas,  and  so  returned 
to  the  barracks. 

But  now,  this  lovely  June  morning  the  news  from 
the  far  West  is  still  more  direful.  Hundreds  of 
savages  have  taken  the  war-path,  and  murder  is  the 
burden  of  every  tale  from  around  their  reservation,  but 
— this  is  the  day  of  "  last  parade"  and  the  graduating 
ball,  and  people  cannot  afford  time  to  think  of  such 
grewsome  matter.  All  the  same,  they  note  that  Mr. 
Lee  comes  no  more  to  the  hotel,  and  a  rumor  is  in  cir 
culation  that  he  has  begged  to  be  relieved  from  duty  at 
the  Point  and  ordered  to  join  his  troop  now  in  the  field 
against  hostile  Indians. 

Nannie  McKay  is  looking  like  a  pathetic  shadow  of 
her  former  self  as  she  comes  down-stairs  to  fulfil  an 
engagement  with  a  cadet  admirer.  She  neglects  no 
duty  of  the  kind  towards  Willy's  friends  and  hers,  but 
she  is  drooping  and  listless.  Uncle  Jack  is  worried 
about  her;  so,  too,  is  mamma,  though  the  latter  is  so 
wrapped  up  in  the  graduation  of  her  boy  that  she  has 
little  time  to  think  of  pallid  cheeks  and  mournful  eyes. 
It  is  all  arranged  that  they  are  to  sail  for  Europe  the 
1st  of  July,  and  the  sea  air,  the  voyage  across,  the  new 
sights  and  associations  on  the  other  side,  will  "  bring 
her  round  again,"  says  that  observant  "avuncular" 
hopefully.  He  is  compelled  to  be  at  his  office  in  the 
city  much  of  the  time,  but  comes  up  this  day  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course,  and  has  a  brief  chat  with  his  graceless 
nephew  at  the  guard-house.  Billy's  utter  lack  of 


172       FROM  "  THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

spirits  sets  Uncle  Jack  to  thinking.  The  boy  says  he 
can  "tell  him  nothing  just  now/7  and  Uncle  Jack  feels 
well  assured  that  he  has  a  good  deal  to  tell.  He  goes 
in  search  of  Lieutenant  Lee,  for  whom  he  has  conceived 
a  great  fancy,  but  the  big  lieutenant  has  gone  to  the 
city  on  business.  In  the  crowded  hall  at  the  hotel  he 
meets  Miriam  Stanley,  and  her  face  gives  him  another 
pound  of  trouble  to  carry. 

"  You  are  going  to  the  ball,  though  ?"  he  hears  a 
lady  say  to  her,  and  Miriam  shakes  her  head. 

Ball,  indeed  ! — or  last  parade,  either !  She  knows 
she  cannot  bear  to  see  the  class  march  to  the  front,  and 
her  brother  not  there.  She  cannot  bear  the  thought  of 
even  looking  on  at  the  ball,  if  Philip  is  to  be  debarred 
from  attending.  Her  thoughts  have  been  very  bitter 
for  a  few  days  past.  Her  father's  intense  but  silent 
distress  and  regret ;  Philip's  certain  detention  after  the 
graduation  of  his  class ;  his  probable  court-martial 
and  loss  of  rank  ;  the  knowledge  that  he  had  incurred 
it  all  to  save  McKay  (and  everybody  by  this  time  felt 
that  it  must  be  Billy  McKay,  though  no  one  could 
prove  it),  all  have  conspired  to  make  her  very  un 
happy  and  very  unjust  to  Mr.  Lee.  Philip  has  told 
her  that  Mr.  Lee  had  no  alternative  in  reporting  to  the 
commandant  his  discovery  "down  the  road,"  but  she 
had  believed  herself  of  sufficient  value  in  that  officer's 
brown  eyes  to  induce  him  to  at  least  postpone  any  men 
tion  of  that  piece  of  accidental  knowledge ;  and  though, 
in  her  heart  of  hearts,  she  knows  she  respects  him  the 
more  because  she  could  not  prevail  against  his  sense  of 
duty,  she  is  stung  to  the  quick,  and,  womanlike,  has 
made  him  feel  it. 


FROM  "  THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS.       173 

It  must  be  in  sympathy  with  her  sorrows  that,  late 
this  afternoon,  the  heavens  open  and  pour  their  floods 
upon  the  plain.  Hundreds  of  people  are  bemoaning 
the  fact  that  now  there  can  be  no  graduating  parade. 
Down  in  barracks  the  members  of  the  class  are  busily 
packing  trunks,  trying  on  civilian  garb,  and  rushing 
about  in  much  excitement.  In  more  senses  than  one 
Phil  Stanley's  room  is  a  centre  of  gravity.  The  com 
mandant  at  ten  o'clock  had  sent  for  him  and  given  him 
final  opportunity  to  state  whose  place  he  occupied  dur 
ing  the  inspection  of  that  now  memorable  night,  and 
he  had  respectfully  but  firmly  declined.  There  was 
then  no  alternative  but  the  withdrawal  of  his  diploma 
and  his  detention  at  the  Point  to  await  the  action  of 
the  Secretary  of  War  upon  the  charges  preferred 
against  him.  "The  Class,"  of  course,  knew  by  this 
time  that  McKay  was  the  man  whom  he  had  saved,  for 
after  one  day  of  torment  and  indecision  that  hapless 
youth  had  called  in  half  a  dozen  of  his  comrades  and 
made  a  clean  breast  of  it.  It  was  then  his  deliberate 
intention  to  go  to  the  commandant  and  beg  for  Stanley's 
release,  and  to  offer  himself  as  the  culprit.  But  Stan 
ley  had  thought  the  problem  out  and  gravely  inter 
posed.  It  could  really  do  no  practical  good  to  him 
and  would  only  result  in  disaster  to  McKay.  No  one 
could  have  anticipated  the  luckless  chain  of  circum 
stances  that  had  led  to  his  own  arrest,  but  now  he  must 
face  the  consequences.  After  long  consultation  the 
young  counsellors  had  decided  on  the  plan.  "  There  is 
only  one  thing  for  us  to  do :  keep  the  matter  quiet. 
There  is  only  one  thing  for  Billy  to  do :  keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip;  graduate  with  the  class,  then  go  to  Wash- 

15* 


174       FROM  «  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

ington  with  '  Uncle  Jack/  and  bestir  their  friends  in 
Congress," — not  just  then  assembled,  but  always  avail 
able!  There  was  never  yet  a  time  when  a  genuine 
"  pull"  from  Senate  and  House  did  not  triumph  over 
the  principles  of  military  discipline. 

A  miserable  man  is  Billy  \  For  a  week  he  has 
moped  in  barracks,  forbidden  by  Stanley  and  his  ad 
visers  to  admit  anything,  yet  universally  suspected  of 
being  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble.  He,  too,  wishes  to 
cancel  his  engagements  for  the  graduating  ball,  and 
thinks  something  ought  to  be  done  to  those  young  idiots 
of  yearlings  who  set  off  the  torpedo.  "  Nothing  could 
have  gone  wrong  but  for  them,"  says  he ;  but  the  wise 
heads  of  the  class  promptly  snub  him  into  silence. 
"  You've  simply  got  to  do  as  we  say  in  this  matter, 
Billy.  You've  done  enough  mischief  already."  And 
so  it  results  that  the  message  he  sends  by  Uncle  Jack 
is  :  "  Tell  mother  and  Nan  I'll  meet  them  at  the '  hop/ 
My  confinements  end  at  eight  o'clock,  but  there's  no 
use  in  my  going  to  the  hotel  and  tramping  through  the 
mud."  The  truth  is,  he  cannot  bear  to  meet  Miriam 
Stanley,  and  'twould  be  just  his  luck. 

One  year  ago  no  happier,  bonnier,  brighter  face  could 
have  been  seen  at  the  Point  than  that  of  Nannie  McKay. 
To-night,  in  all  the  throng  of  fair  women  and  lovely  girls, 
gathered  with  their  soldier  escort  in  the-great  mess-hall, 
there  is  none  so  sad.  She  tries  hard  to  be  chatty  and 
smiling,  but  is  too  frank  and  honest  a  little  soul  to  have 
much  success.  The  dances  that  Phil  Stanley  had  en 
gaged  months  and  months  ago  are  accredited  now  to  other 
names,  and  blissful  young  fellows  in  gray  and  gold 
come  successively  to  ch\m  them.  But  deep  down  in 


FROM  »  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       175 

her  heart  she  remembers  the  number  of  each.  It  was 
he  who  was  to  have  been  her  escort.  It  was  he  who 
made  out  her  card  and  gave  it  to  her  only  a  day  or  two 
before  that  fatal  interview.  It  was  he  who  was  to 
have  had  the  last  waltz — the  very  last — that  he  would 
dance  in  the  old  cadet  gray ;  and  though  new  names 
have  been  substituted  for  his  in  other  cases,  this  waltz 
she  meant  to  keep.  Well  knowing  that  there  would 
be  many  to  beg  for  it,  she  has  written  Willy's  name  for 
"  Stanley,"  and  duly  warned  him  of  the  fact.  Then, 
when  it  comes,  she  means  to  escape  to  the  dressing-room, 
for  she  is  promptly  told  that  her  brother  is  engaged  to 
Miss  Waring  for  that  very  waltz.  Light  as  are  her 
feet,  she  never  yet  has  danced  with  so  heavy  a  heart. 
The  rain  still  pours,  driving  everybody  within  doors. 
The  heat  is  intense.  The  hall  is  crowded,  and  it  fre 
quently  happens  that  partners  cannot  find  her  until 
near  the  end  of  their  number  on  that  dainty  card. 
But  every  one  has  something  to  say  about  Phil  Stanley 
and  the  universal  regret  at  his  absence.  It  is  getting 
to  be  more  than  she  can  bear, — this  prolonged  striving 
to  respond  with  proper  appreciation  and  sympathy,  yet 
not  say  too  much, — not  betray  the  secret  that  is  now 
burning,  throbbing  in  her  girlish  heart.  He  does  not 
dream  it,  but  there,  hidden  beneath  the  soft  lace  upon 
her  snowy  neck,  lies  that  "  knot  of  ribbon  blue"  which 
she  so  laughingly  had  given  him,  at  his  urging,  the 
last  day  of  her  visit  the  previous  year;  the  knot  which 
he  had  so  loyally  treasured  and  then  so  sadly  returned. 
A  trifling,  senseless  thing  to  make  such  an  ado  about, 
but  these  hearts  are  young  and  ardent,  and  this  romance 
of  his  has  many  a  counterpart,  the  memory  of  which 


176       FROM  «  THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

may  bring  to  war-worn,  grizzled  heads  to-day  a  blusb 
almost  of  shame,  and  would  surely  bring  to  many  an 
old  and  sometimes  aching  heart  a  sigh.  Hoping  against 
hope,  poor  Nannie  has  thought  it  just  possible  that  at 
the  last  moment  the  authorities  would  relent  and  he  be 
allowed  to  attend.  If  so, — if  so,  angry  and  justly 
angered  though  he  might  be,  cut  to  the  heart  though 
he  expressed  himself,  has  she  not  here  the  means  to 
•nail  him  back  ? — to  bid  him  come  and  know  how  con 
trite  she  is  ?  Hour  after  hour  she  glances  at  the  broad 
archway  at  the  east,  yearning  to  see  his  dark,  hand 
some  face  among  the  new-comers, — all  in  vain.  Time 
and  again  she  encounters  Sallie  Waring,  brilliant,  be 
witching,  in  the  most  ravishing  of  toilets,  and  always 
with  half  a  dozen  men  about  her.  Twice  she  notices 
Will  among  them  with  a  face  gloomy  and  rebellious, 
and,  hardly  knowing  why,  she  almost  hates  her. 

At  last  comes  the  waltz  that  was  to  have  been 
Philip's, — the  waltz  she  has  saved  for  his  sake  though 
he  cannot  claim  it.  Mr.  Pennock,  who  has  danced  the 
previous  galop  with  her,  sees  the  leader  raising  his 
baton,  bethinks  him  of  his  next  partner,  and  leaves 
her  at  the  open  window  close  to  the  dressing-room 
door.  There  she  can  have  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  and, 
hiding  behind  the  broad  backs  of  several  bulky  officers 
and  civilians,  listen  undisturbed  to  the  music  she 
longed  to  enjoy  with  him.  Here,  to  her  surprise,  Will 
suddenly  joins  her. 

"  I  thought  you  were  engaged  to  Miss  Waring  for 
ihis,"  she  says. 

"  I  was,"  he  answers,  savagely ;  "  but  Fm  well  out 
of  it.  I  resigned  in  favor  of  a  big  l  cit?  who's  worth 


FROM  "THE  POINT11    TO   THE  PLAINS.       177 

only  twenty  thousand  a  year,  Nan,  and  she  has  been 
engaged  to  him  all  this  time  and  never  let  me  know 
until  to-night." 

"  Willy!"  she  gasps.  "Oh!  I'm  so  glad— sorry,  I 
mean  !  I  never  did  like  her." 

"  I  did,  Nan,  more's  the  pity.  I'm  not  the  first  she's 
made  a  fool  of;"  and  he  turns  away,  hiding  the  chagrin 
in  his  young  face.  They  are  practically  alone  in  this 
sheltered  nook.  Crowds  are  around  them,  but  looking 
the  other  way.  The  rain  is  dripping  from  the  trees 
without  and  pattering  on  the  stone  flags.  McKay 
leans  out  into  the  night,  and  the  sister's  loving  heart 
yearns  over  him  in  his  trouble. 

"  Willy,"  she  says,  laying  the  little  white-gloved 
hand  on  his  arm,  t(  it's  hard  to  bear,  but  she  isn't 
worthy  any  man's  love.  Twice  I've  heard  in  the  last 
two  days  that  she  makes  a  boast  of  it  that  'twas  to  see 
her  that  some  one  risked  his  commission  and  so — kept 
Mr.  Stanley  from  being  here  to-night.  Willy,  do  you 
know  who  it  was?  Don't  you  think  he  ought  to  have 
come  forward  like  a  gentleman,  days  ago,  and  told  the 
truth  ?  Will !  What  is  it  ?  Don't  look  so !  Speak  to 
me,  Willy, — your  little  Nan.  Was  there  ever  a  time, 
dear,  when  my  whole  heart  wasn't  open  to  you  in  love 
and  sympathy?" 

And  now,  just  at  this  minute,  the  music  begins  again. 
Soft,  sweet,  yet  with  such  a  strain  of  pathos  and  of 
sadness  running  through  every  chord  ;  it  is  the  love 
liest  of  all  the  waltzes  played  in  his  "  First  Class 
Camp," — the  one  of  all  others  he  most  loved  to  hear. 
Her  heart  almost  bursts  now  to  think  of  him  in  his 
lonely  room,  beyond  hearing  of  the  melody  that  is  so 
m 


178       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

dear  to  him,  that  is  now  so  passionately  dear  to  her,  — 
"Love's  Sigh."  Doubtless,  Philip  had  asked  the 
leader  days  ago  to  play  it  here  and  at  no  other  time. 
It  is  more  than  enough  to  start  the  tears  long  welling  in 
her  eyes.  For  an  instant  it  turns  her  from  thought  of 
Willy's  own  heartache. 

"  Will !"  she  whispers,  desperately.  "  This  was  to 
have  been  Philip  Stanley's  waltz — and  I  want  you  to 
take — something  to  him  for  me." 

He  turns  back  to  her  again,  his  hands  clinched,  his 
teeth  set,  still  thinking  only  of  his  own  bitter  humilia 
tion, — of  how  that  girl  has  fooled  and  jilted  him, — of 
how  for  her  sake  he  had  brought  all  this  trouble  on 
his  stanchest  friend. 

"Phil  Stanley!"  he  exclaims.  "By  heaven!  it 
makes  me  nearly  mad  to  think  of  it ! — and  all  for  her 
sake, — all  through  me.  Oh,  Nan  !  Nan  !  I  must  tell 
you !  It  was  for  me, — to  save  me  that " 

"  Willy  /"  and  there  is  almost  horror  in  her  wide  blue 
eyes.  "  Willy!"  she  gasps — "  oh,  don't — don't  tell  me 
that!  Oh,  it  isn't  true?  Not  you— not  you,  Willy. 
Not  my  brother  !  Oh,  quick  !  Tell  me." 

Startled,  alarmed,  he  seizes  her  hand. 

"  Little  sister  !  What — what  has  happened — what 
is " 

But  there  is  no  time  for  more  words.  The  week  of 
misery;  the  piteous  strain  of  the  long  evening;  the 
sweet,  sad,  wailing  melody, — his  favorite  waltz  ;  the 
sudden,  stunning  revelation  that  it  was  for  Willy's  sake 
that  he — her  hero — was  now  to  suffer,  he  whose  heart 
she  had  trampled  on  and  crushed  !  It  is  all  more  than 
mortal  girl  can  bear.  With  the  beautiful  strains  moan- 


FROM  "THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS.       179 

ing,  whirling,  ringing,  surging  through  her  brain,  she 
is  borne  dizzily  away  into  darkness  and  oblivion. 
********* 
There  follows  a  week  in  which  sadder  faces  yet  are 
seen  about  the  old  hotel.  The  routine  of  the  Academy 
goes  on  undisturbed.  The  graduating  class  has  taken 
its  farewell  of  the  gray  walls  and  gone  upon  its  way. 
New  faces,  new  voices  are  those  in  the  line  of  officers 
at  parade.  The  corps  has  pitched  its  white  tents  under 
the  trees  beyond  the  grassy  parapet  of  Fort  Clinton, 
and,  with  the  graduates  and  furlough-men  gone,  its 
ranks  look  pitifully  thinned.  The  throng  of  visitors 
has  vanished.  The  halls  and  piazzas  at  Craney's  are 
well-nigh  deserted,  but  among  the  few  who  linger  there 
is  not  one  who  has  not  loving  inquiry  for  the  young 
life  that  for  a  brief  while  has  fluttered  so  near  the 
grave.  "  Brain  fever,"  said  the  doctors  to  Uncle  Jack, 
and  a  new  anxiety  was  lined  in  his  kindly  face  as  he 
and  Will  McKay  sped  on  their  mission  to  the  Capitol. 
They  had  to  go,  though  little  Nan  lay  sore  stricken  at 
the  Point. 

But  youth  and  elasticity  triumph.  The  danger  is 
passed.  She  lies  now,  very  white  and  still,  listening  to 
the  sweet  strains  of  the  band  trooping  down  the  line 
this  soft  June  evening.  Her  mother,  worn  with  watch 
ing,  is  resting  on  the  Kmnge.  It  is  Miriam  Stanley 
who  hovers  at  the  bedside.  Presently  the  bugles  peal 
the  retreat ;  the  sunset  gun  booms  across  the  plain  ; 
the  ringing  voice  of  the  young  adjutant  comes  floating 
on  the  southerly  breeze,  and,  as  she  listens,  Nannie 
follows  every  detail  of  the  well-known  ceremony,  won 
dering  how  it  could  go  on  day  after  day  with  no  Mr. 


180       FROM   "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

Pennock  to  read  the  orders ;  with  no  "  big  Burton" 
to  thunder  his  commands  to  the  first  company ;  with  no 
Philip  Stanley  to  march  the  colors  to  their  place  on 
the  line.  "  Where  is  he?"  is  the  question  in  the  sweet 
blue  eyes  that  so  wistfully  seek  his  sister's  face ;  but 
she  answers  not.  One  by  one  the  first  sergeants  made 
their  reports ;  and  now — that  ringing  voice  again,  read 
ing  the  orders  of  the  day.  How  clear  it  sounds  ! 
How  hushed  and  still  the  listening  Point ! 

"  Head-quarters  of  the  Army,"  she  hears.  "  Wash 
ington,  June  15,  187-.  Special  orders,  Number  — . 

"  First.  Upon  his  own  application,  First  Lieutenant 
George  Rornney  Lee,  — th  Cavalry,  is  hereby  relieved 
from  duty  at  the  U.  S.  Military  Academy,  and  will 
join  his  troop  now  in  the  field  against  hostile  Indians. 

"Second.  Upon  the  recommendation  of  the  Super 
intendent  U.  S.  Military  Academy,  the  charges  pre 
ferred  against  Cadet  Captain  Philip  S.  Stanley  are 
withdrawn.  Cadet  Stanley  will  be  considered  as 
graduated  with  his  class  on  the  12th  instant,  will  be  re 
leased  from  arrest,  and  authorized  to  avail  himself  of 
the  leave  of  absence  granted  his  class." 

Nannie  starts  from  her  pillow,  clasping  in  her  thin 
white  fingers  the  soft  hand  that  would  have  restrained 
her. 

"  Miriam  !"  she  cries.     "  Then — will  he  go  ?" 

The  dark,  proud  face  bends  down  to  her ;  clasping 
arms  encircle  the  little  white  form,  and  Miriam  Stan 
ley's  very  heart  wails  forth  in  answer, — 

"Oh,  Nannie!  He  is  almost  there  by  this  time, — 
both  of  them.  They  left  to  join  the  regiment  three 
days  ago ;  their  orders  came  by  telegraph." 


FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

Another  week,  and  Uncle  Jack  is  again  with  them. 
The  doctors  agree  that  the  ocean  voyage  is  now  not 
only  advisable,  but  necessary.  They  are  to  move  their 
little  patient  to  the  city  and  board  their  steamer  in  a 
day  or  two.  Will  has  come  to  them,  full  of  disgust 
that  he  has  been  assigned  to  the  artillery,  and  filling 
his  mother's  heart  with  dismay  because  he  is  begging 
for  a  transfer  to  the  cavalry,  to  the  — th  Regiment, — 
of  all  others, — now  plunged  in  the  whirl  of  an  In 
dian  war.  Every  day  the  papers  come  freighted 
with  rumors  of  fiercer  fighting ;  but  little  that  is  re 
liable  can  be  heard  from  "  Sabre  Stanley"  and  his  col 
umn.  They  are  far  beyond  telegraphic  communica 
tion,  hemmed  in  by  "  hostiles"  on  every  side. 

Uncle  Jack  is  an  early  riser.  Going  down  for  his 
paper  before  breakfast,  he  is  met  at  the^  foot  of  the 
stairs  by  a  friend  who  points  to  the  head-lines  of  tho 
Herald,  with  the  simple  remark,  "  Isn't  this  hard  ?" 

It  is  brief  enough,  God  knows. 

"A  courier  just  in  from  Colonel  Stanley's  camp 
brings  the  startling  news  that  Lieutenant  Philip 
Stanley,  — th  Cavalry,  with  two  scouts  and  a  small 
escort,  who  left  here  Sunday,  hoping  to  push  through 
to  the  Spirit  Wolf,  were  ambushed  by  the  Indians  in 
Black  Canon.  Their  bodies,  scalped  and  mutilated, 
were  found  Wednesday  night." 

Where,  then,  was  Romney  Lee? 


182       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

BLACK  CA&ON. 

THE  red  sun  is  going  down  behind  the  line  of  dis 
tant  buttes,  throwing  long  shadows  out  across  the 
grassy  upland.  Every  crest  and  billow  of  the  prairie 
is  bathed  in  crimson  and  gold,  while  the  "  breaks"  and 
ravines  trending  southward  grow  black  and  forbidding 
in  their  contrasted  gloom.  Far  over  to  the  southeast, 
in  dazzling  radiance,  two  lofty  peaks,  still  snow-clad, 
gleam  against  the  summer  sky,  and  at  their  feet  dark 
waves  of  forest-covered  foot-hills  drink  in  the  last  rays 
of  the  waning  sunshine  as  though  hoarding  its  treas 
ured  warmth  against  the  chill  of  coming  night. 
Already  the  evening  air,  rare  and  exhilarating  at  this 
great  altitude,  loses  the  sun-god's  touch  and  strikes 
upon  the  cheek  keen  as  the  ether  of  the  limitless 
heavens.  A  while  ago,  only  in  the  distant  valley 
winding  to  the  south  could  foliage  be  seen.  Now,  all 
in  those  depths  is  merged  in  sombre  shade,  and  not  a 
leaf  or  tree  breaks  for  miles  the  grand  monotony. 
Close  at  hand  a  host  of  tiny  mounds,  each  tipped  with 
reddish  gold,  and  some  few  further  ornamented  by 
miniature  sentry,  alert  and  keen-eyed,  tell  of  a  prairie 
township  already  laid  out  and  thickly  populated ;  and 
at  this  moment  every  sentry  is  chipping  his  pert, 
querulous  challenge  until  the  disturbers  of  the  peace 
are  close  upon  him,  then  diving  headlong  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth. 


FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS.       183 

A  dun  cloud  of  dust  rolls  skyward  along  a  well- 
worn  cavalry  trail,  and  is  whirled  into  space  by  the 
hoofs  of  sixty  panting  chargers  trotting  steadily  south. 
Sixty  sunburned,  dust-covered  troopers  ride  grimly  on, 
following  the  lead  of  a  tall  soldier  whose  kind  brown 
eyes  peer  anxiously  from  under  his  scouting-hat.  It  is 
just  as  they  pass  the  village  of  the  prairie  dogs  that 
he  points  to  the  low  valley  down  to  the  front  and  ques 
tions  the  "  plainsman"  who  lopes  along  by  his  side, — 

"That  Black  Canon  down  yonder?" 

"  That's  it,  lieutenant :  I  didn't  think  you  could 
make  it  to-night." 

"  We  had  to,"  is  the  simple  reply  as  again  the  spur 
touches  the  jaded  flank  and  evokes  only  a  groan  in 
response. 

"  How  far  from  here  to — the  Springs  ?"  he  presently 
asks  again. 

"  Box  Elder  ? — where  they  found  the  bodies  ? — 'bout 
five  mile,  sir." 

"  Where  away  was  that  signal  smoke  we  saw  at  the 
divide?" 

"  Must  have  been  from  those  bluffs — east  of  the 
Springs,  sir." 

Lieutenant  Lee  whips  out  his  watch  and  peers  at 
the  dial  through  the  twilight.  The  cloud  deepens  on 
his  haggard,  handsome  face.  Eight  o'clock,  and  they 
have  been  in  saddle  almost  incessantly  since  yesterday 
afternoon,  weighed  down  with  the  tidings  of  the  fell 
disaster  that  has  robbed  them  of  their  comrades,  and 
straining  every  nerve  to  reach  the  scene. 

Only  five  days  before,  as  he  stepped  from  the  rail 
way  car  at  the  supply  station,  a  wagon-train  had  come 


184       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

in  from  the  front  escorted  by  Mr.  Lee's  own  troop ;  his 
captain  with  it,  wounded.  Just  as  soon  as  it  could  re 
load  with  rations  and  ammunition  the  train  was  to 
start  on  its  eight  days'  journey  to  the  Spirit  Wolf, 
where  Colonel  Stanley  and  the  — th  were  bivouacked 
and  scouring  the  neighboring  mountains.  Already  a 
battalion  of  infantry  was  at  the  station,  another  was  on 
its  way,  and  supplies  were  being  hurried  forward. 
Captain  Gregg  brought  the  first  reliable  news.  The 
Indians  had  apparently  withdrawn  from  the  road. 
The  wagon-train  had  come  through  unmolested,  and 
Colonel  Stanley  was  expecting  to  push  forward  into 
their  fastnesses  farther  south  the  moment  he  could  ob 
tain  authority  from  head-quarters.  With  these  neces 
sary  orders  two  couriers  had  started  just  twelve  hours 
before.  The  captain  was  rejoiced  to  see  his  favorite 
lieutenant  and  to  welcome  Philip  Stanley  to  the  regi 
ment.  "  Everybody  seemed  to  feel  that  you  too  would 
be  coming  right  along,", he  said;  "but,  Phil,  my  boy, 
I'm  afraid  you're  too  late  for  the  fun.  You  cannot 
catch  the  command  before  it  starts  from  Spirit  Wolf." 
And  yet  this  was  just  what  Phil  had  tried  to  do. 
Lee  knew  nothing  of  his  plan  until  everything  had 
been  arranged  between  the  young  officer  and  the  major 
commanding  the  temporary  camp  at  the  station.  Then 
it  was  too  late  to  protest.  While  it  was  Mr.  Lee's 
duty  to  remain  and  escort  the  train,  Philip  Stanley, 
with  two  scouts  and  half  a  do/en  troopers,  had  pushed 
out  to  overtake  the  regiment  two  hundred  miles  away. 
Forty-eight  hours  later,  as  the  wagon-train  with  its 
guard  was  slowly  crawling  southward,  it  was  met  by  a 
courier  with  ghastly  face.  He  was  one  of  three  who 


FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       185 

had  started  from  the  ruined  agency  together.  They 
met  no  Indians,  but  at  Box  Elder  Springs  had  come 
upon  the  bodies  of  a  little  party  of  soldiers  stripped, 
scalped,  gashed,  and  mutilated, — nine  in  all.  There 
could  be  little  doubt  that  they  were  those  of  poor 
Philip  and  his  new-found  comrades.  The  courier  had 
recognized  two  of  the  bodies  as  those  of  Forbes  and 
Whiting, — the  scouts  who  had  gone  with  the  party; 
the  others  he  did  not  know  at  all. 

Parking  his  train  then  and  there,  sending  back  to 
the  railway  for  an  infantry  company  to  hasten  forward 
and  take  charge  of  it,  Mr.  Lee  never  hesitated  as  to 
his  own  course.  He  and  his  troop  pushed  on  at  once. 
And  now,  worn,  weary,  but  determined,  the  little  com 
mand  is  just  in  sight  of  the  deep  ravine  known  to 
frontiersmen  for  years  as  Black  Cation.  It  was 
through  here  that  Stanley  and  his  battalion  had 
marched  a  fortnight  since.  It  was  along  this  very 
trail  that  Phil  and  his  party,  pressing  eagerly  on  to 
join  the  regiment,  rode  down  into  its  dark  depths  and 
were  ambushed  at  the  Springs.  From  all  indications, 
said  the  courier,  they  must  have  unsaddled  for  a  brief 
rest,  probably  just  at  nightfall ;  but  the  Indians  had 
left  little  to  aid  them  in  forming  an  opinion.  Utterly 
unnerved  by  the  sight,  his  two  associates  had  turned 
back  to  rejoin  Stanley's  column,  while  he,  the  third, 
had  decided  to  make  for  the  railway.  Unless  those 
men,  too,  had  been  cut  off,  the  regiment  by  this  time 
knew  of  the  tragic  fate  of  some  of  their  comrades, 
but  the  colonel  was  mercifully  spared  all  dread  that 
one  of  the  victims  was  his  only  son. 

Nine  were  in  the  party  when  they  started.     Nine 

*1G* 


186       FROM  "THE  POINT1    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

bodies  were  lying  there  when  the  couriers  reached  the 
Springs,  and  now  nine  are  lying  here  to-night  when, 
just  after  moonrise,  Romney  Lee  dismounts  and  bends 
sadly  over  them,  one  after  another.  The  prairie  wolves 
have  been  here  first,  adding  mutilation  to  the  butchery 
of  their  human  prototypes.  There  is  little  chance,  in 
this  pallid  light  and  with  these  poor  remnants,  to  make 
identification  a  possibility.  All  vestiges  of  uniform, 
arms,  and  equipment  have  been  carried  away,  and  such 
underclothing  as  remains  has  been  torn  to  shreds  by 
the  herd  of  snarling,  snapping  brutes  which  is  driven 
off  only  by  the  rush  of  the  foremost  troopers,  and  is 
DOW  dispersed  all  over  the  canon  and  far  up  the  heights 
beyond  the  outposts,  yelping  indignant  protest. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  number  slain.  All 
the  nine  are  here,  and  Mr.  Lee  solemnly  pencils  the 
despatch  that  is  to  go  back  to  the  railway  so  soon  as  a 
messenger  and  his  horse  can  get  a  few  hours7  needed 
rest.  Before  daybreak  the  man  is  away,  meeting  on 
his  lonely  ride  other  comrades  hurrying  to  the  front,  to 
whom  he  briefly  gives  confirmation  of  the  first  report. 
Before  the  setting  of  the  second  sun  he  has  reached  his 
journey's  end,  and  the  telegraph  is  flashing  the  mourn 
ful  details  to  the  distant  East,  and  so,  when  the 
"Servia"  slowly  glides  from  her  moorings  and  turns 
her  prow  towards  the  sparkling  sea,  Nannie  McKay  is 
sobbing  her  heart  out  alone  in  her  little  white  state 
room,  crushing  with  her  kisses,  bathing  with  her  tears, 
the  love-knot  she  had  given  her  soldier  boy  less  than  a 
year  before. 

Another  night  comes  around.  Tiny  fires  are  glow 
ing  down  in  the  dark  depths  of  Black  Canon,  showing 


FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       187 

red  through  the  frosty  gleam  of  the  moonlight.  Under 
the  silvery  rays  nine  nev/-made  graves  are  ranked  along 
the  turf,  guarded  by  troopers  whose  steeds  are  browsing 
close  at  hand.  Silence  and  sadness  reign  in  the  little 
bivouac  where  Lee  and  his  comrades  await  the  coming 
of  the  train  they  had  left  three  days  before.  It  will 
be  here  on  the  morrow,  early,  and  then  they  must  push 
ahead  and  bear  their  heavy  tidings  to  the  regiment. 
He  has  written  one  sorrowing  letter — and  what  a  letter 
to  have  to  write  to  the  woman  he  loves! — to  tell 
Miriam  that  he  has  been  unable  to  identify  any  one  of 
the  bodies  as  that  of  her  gallant  young  brother,  yet 
is  compelled  to  believe  him  to  lie  there,  one  of  the 
btricken  nine.  And  now  he  must  face  the  father  with 
this  bitter  news  !  Romney  Lee's  sore  heart  fails  him 
at  the  prospect,  and  he  cannot  sleep.  Good  heaven ! 
Can  it  be  that  three  weeks  only  have  passed  away  since 
the  night  of  that  lovely  yet  ill-fated  carriage-ride  down 
through  Highland  Falls,  down  beyond  picturesque 
Hawkshurst? 

Out  on  the  bluffs,  though  he  cannot  see  them,  and 
up  and  down  the  canon,  vigilant  sentries  guard  this 
solemn  bivouac.  No  sign  of  Indian  has  been  seen  ex 
cept  the  hoof-prints  of  a  score  of  ponies  and  the  bloody 
relics  of  their  direful  visit.  No  repetition  of  the  signal- 
smokes  has  greeted  their  watchful  eyes.  It  looks  as 
though  this  outlying  band  of  warriors  had  noted  his 
coming,  had  sent  up  their  warning  to  others  of  their 
tribe,  and  then  scattered  for  the  mountains  at  the  south. 
All  the  same,  as  he  rode  the  bluff  lines  at  nightfall, 
Mr.  Lee  had  charged  the  sentries  to  be  alert  with  eye 
and  ear,  and  to  allow  none  to  approach  unchallenged. 


188       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS. 

The  weary  night  wears  on.  The  young  moon  has 
ridden  down  in  the  west  and  sunk  behind  that  distant 
bluff  line.  All  is  silent  as  the  graves  around  which 
his  men  are  slumbering,  and  at  last,  worn  with  sorrow 
and  vigil,  Lee  rolls  himself  in  his  blanket  and,  still 
booted  and  spurred,  stretches  his  feet  towards  the  little 
watch-fire,  and  pillows  his  head  upon  the  saddle. 
Down  the  stream  the  horses  are  already  beginning  to 
tug  at  their  lariats  and  struggle  to  their  feet,  that  they 
may  crop  the  dew-moistened  bunch  grass.  Far  out 
upon  the  chill  night  air  the  yelping  challenge  of  the 
coyotes  is  heard,  but  the  sentries  give  no  sign.  Despite 
grief  and  care,  Nature  asserts  her  sway  and  is  fast  lull 
ing  Lee  to  sleep,  when,  away  up  on  the  heights  to  the 
northwest,  there  leaps  out  a  sudden  lurid  flash  and,  a 
second  after,  the  loud  ring  of  the  cavalry  carbine  comes 
echoing  down  the  canon.  Lee  springs  to  his  feet  and 
seizes  his  rifle.  The  first  shot  is  quickly  followed  by 
a  second ;  the  men  are  tumbling  up  from  their  blankets 
and,  with  the  instinct  of  old  campaigners,  thrusting 
cartridges  into  the  opened  chambers. 

"Keep  your  men  together  here,  sergeant,"  is  the 
brief  order,  and  in  a  moment  more  Lee  is  spurring  up 
ward  along  an  old  game  trail.  Just  under  the  crest  he 
overtakes  a  sergeant  hurrying  northward. 

"  What  is  it  ?     Who  fired  ?"  he  asks. 

"  Morris  fired,  sir :  I  don't  know  why.  He  is  the 
farthest  post  up  the  bluffs." 

Together  they  reach  a  young  trooper,  crouching  in 
the  pallid  dawn  behind  a  jagged  parapet  of  rock,  and 
eagerly  demanded  the  cause  of  the  alarm.  The  sentry 
is  quivering  with  excitement. 


FROM  "THE  POINT1    TO   THE  I LAINS. 

"An  Indian,  sir!  Not  a  hundred  yards  out  there! 
I  seen  him  plain  enough  to  swear  to  it.  He  rose  up 
from  behind  that  point  yonder  and  started  out  over  the 
prairie,  and  I  up  and  fired." 

"Did  you  challenge?'7 

"  No,  sir/'  answers  the  young  soldier,  simply.  "  He 
was  going  away.  He  couldn't  understand  me  if  I  had, 
— leastwise  I  couldn't  'a  understood  him.  He  ran  like 
a  deer  the  moment  I  fired,  and  was  out  of  sight  almost 
before  I  could  send  another  shot. 

Lee  and  the  sergeant  push  out  along  the  crest,  their 
arms  at  "  ready,"  their  keen  eyes  searching  every  dip 
in  the  surface.  Close  to  the  edge  of  the  caflon,  per 
haps  a  hundred  yards  away,  they  come  upon  a  little 
ledge,  behind  which,  under  the  bluff,  it  is  possible  for 
an  Indian  to  steal  unnoticed  towards  their  sentries  and 
to  peer  into  the  depths  below.  Some  one  has  been 
here  within  a  few  minutes,  watching,  stretched  prone 
upon  the  turf,  for  Lee  finds  it  dry  and  almost  warm, 
while  all  around  the  bunch  grass  is  heavy  with  dew. 
Little  by  little  as  the  light  grows  warmer  in  the  east 
and  aids  them  in  their  search,  they  can  almost  trace 
the  outline  of  a  recumbent  human  form.  Presently 
the  west  wind  begins  to  blow  with  greater  strength, 
and  they  note  the  mass  of  clouds,  gray  and  frowning, 
that  is  banked  against  the  sky.  Out  on  the  prairie 
not  a  moving  object  can  be  seen,  though  the  eye  can 
reach  a  good  rifle-shot  away.  Down  in  the  darkness 
of  the  cafion  the  watch-fires  still  smoulder  and  the 
men  still  wait.  There  comes  no  further  order  from 
the  heights.  Lee,  with  the  sergeant,  is  now  bending 
over  faint  footprints  just  discernible  in  the  pallid  light. 


190       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS. 

Suddenly  up  he  starts  and  gazes  eagerly  out  to  the 
west.  The  sergeant,  too,  at  the  same  instant,  leaps  to 
wards  his  commander.  Distant,  but  distinct,  two  quick 
shots  have  been  fired  far  over  among  those  tumbling 
buttes  and  ridges  lying  there  against  the  horizon.  Be 
fore  either  man  could  speak  or  question,  there  comes 
another,  then  another,  then  two  or  three  in  quick  suc 
cession,  the  sound  of  firing  thick  and  fast. 

"  It's  a  fight,  sir,  sure !"  cries  the  sergeant,  eagerly. 

"  To  horse,  then, — quick  !"  is  the  answer,  as  the  two 
soldiers  bound  back  to  the  trail. 

"  Saddle  up,  men  !"  rings  the  order,  shouted  down 
the  rocky  flanks  of  the  ravine.  There  is  instant  re 
sponse  in  the  neigh  of  excited  horses,  the  clatter  of 
iron-shod  hoofs.  Through  the  dim  light  the  men  go 
rushing,  saddles  and  bridles  in  hand,  each  to  where  he 
has  driven  his  own  picket  pin.  Promptly  the  steeds 
are  girthed  and  bitted.  Promptly  the  men  come  run 
ning  back  to  the  bivouac,  seizing  and  slinging  carbines, 
then  leading  into  line.  A  brief  word  of  command, 
another  of  caution,  and  then  the  whole  troop  is 
mounted  and,  following  its  leader,  rides  ghost-like  up 
a  winding  ravine  that  enters  the  canon  from  the  west 
and  goes  spurring  to  the  high  plateau  beyond.  Once 
there  the  eager  horses  have  ample  room ;  the  springing 
turf  invites  their  speed.  "  Front  into  line"  they  sweep 
at  rapid  gallop,  and  then,  with  Lee  well  out  before 
them,  with  carbines  advanced,  with  hearts  beating 
high,  with  keen  eyes  flashing,  and  every  ear  strained 
for  sound  of  the  fray,  away  they  bound.  There's  a 
fight  ahead!  Some  one  needs  their  aid,  and  there's 
not  a  man  in  all  old  "  B"  troop  who  does  not  mean 


FROM  'THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       191 

to  avenge  those  new-made  graves.  Up  a  little  slope 
they  ride,  all  eyes  fixed  on  Lee.  They  see  him  reach 
the  ridge,  sweep  gallantly  over,  then,  with  ringing 
cheer,  turn  in  saddle,  wave  his  revolver  high  in  air, 
clap  spur  to  his  horse's  flank  and  go  darting  down  the 
other  side. 

"  Come  on,  lads !" 

Ay,  on  it  is!  One  wild  race  for  the  crest,  one 
headland  charge  down  the  slope  beyond,  and  they  are 
rolling  over  a  band  of  yelling,  scurrying,  savage  horse 
men,  whirling  them  away  over  the  opposite  ridge, 
driving  them  helter-skelter  over  the  westward  prairie, 
until  all  who  escape  the  shock  of  the  onset  or  the  swift 
bullet  in  the  raging  chase  finally  vanish  from  their 
sight ;  and  then,  obedient  to  the  ringing  "  recall"  of 
the  trumpet,  slowly  they  return,  gathering  again  in  the 
little  ravine;  and  there,  wondering,  rejoicing,  jubilant, 
they  cluster  at  the  entrance  of  a  deep  cleft  in  the  rocks, 
where,  bleeding  from  a  bullet-wound  in  the  arm,  but 
with  a  world  of  thankfulness  and  joy  in  his  handsome 
face,  their  leader  stands,  clasping  Philip  Stanley,  pallid, 
faint,  well-nigh  starved,  but — God  be  praised! — safe 
and  unscathed. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

CAPTURED. 

How  the  tidings  of  that  timely  rescue  thrill  through 
every  heart  at  old  Fort  Warrener !  There  are  gathered 
the  wives  and  children  of  the  regiment.  There  is  the 


192       FROM  "THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

colonel's  home,  silent  and  darkened  for  that  one  long 
week,  then  ringing  with  joy  and  congratulation,  with 
gladness  and  thanksgiving.  Miriam  again  is  there, 
suddenly  lifted  from  the  depths  of  sorrow  to  a  wealth 
of  bliss  she  had  no  words  to  express.  Day  and  night 
the  little  army  coterie  flocked  about  her  to  hear  again 
and  again  the  story  of  Philip's  peril  and  his  final 
rescue,  and  then  to  exclaim  over  Romney  Lee's  gal 
lantry  and  devotion.  It  was  all  so  bewildering.  For 
a  week  they  had  mourned  their  colonel's  only  son  as 
dead  and  buried.  The  wondrous  tale  of  his  discovery 
sounded  simply  fabulous,  and  yet  was  simply  true. 
Hurrying  forward  from  the  railway,  the  little  party 
had  been  joined  by  two  young  frontiersmen  eager  to 
obtain  employment  with  the  scouts  of  Stanley's  col 
umn.  Halting  just  at  sunset  for  brief  rest  at  Box  Elder 
Springs,  the  lieutenant  with  Sergeant  Harris  had  climbed 
th«  bluffs  to  search  for  Indian  signal  fires.  It  was  nearly 
dark  when  on  their  return  they  were  amazed  to  hear  the 
sound  of  fire-arms  in  the  canon,  and  were  themselves 
suddenly  attacked  and  completely  cut  off  from  their 
comrades.  Stanley's  horse  was  shot;  but  Sergeant 
Harris,  though  himself  wounde*d,  helped  his  young 
officer  to  mount  behind  him,  and  galloped  back  into 
the  darkness,  where  they  evaded  their  pursuers  by 
turning  loose  their  horse  and  groping  in  among  the 
rocks.  Here  they  hid  all  night  and  all  next  day  in 
the  deep  cleft  where  Lee  had  found  them,  listening  to 
the  shouts  and  signals  of  a  swarm  of  savage  foes.  At 
last  the  sounds  seemed  to  die  away,  the  Indians  to  dis 
appear,  and  then  hunger,  thirst,  and  the  feverish  delirium 
of  the  sergeant,  who  was  tor  Lured  for  want  of  water. 


FROM  "THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS.       193 

drove  Stanley  forth  in  hopes  of  reaching  the  cafion. 
Fired  at,  as  he  supposed,  by  Indians,  he  was  speedily 
back  in  his  lair  again,  but  was  there  almost  as  speedily 
tracked  and  besieged.  For  a  while  he  was  able  to 
keep  the  foe  at  bay,  but  Lee  had  come  just  in  the  nick 
of  time ;  only  two  cartridges  were  left,  and  poor  Harris 
was  nearly  gone. 

A  few  weeks  later,  while  the  — th  is  still  on  duty 
rounding  up  the  Indians  in  the  mountains,  the 
wounded  are  brought  home  to  Warrener.  There  are 
not  many,  for  only  the  first  detachment  of  two  small 
troops  had  had  any  serious  engagement ;  but  the  sur 
geons  say  that  Mr.  Lee's  arm  is  so  badly  crippled  that 
he  can  do  no  field  work  for  several  months,  and  he  had 
best  go  in  to  the  railway.  And  now  he  is  at  Warrener ; 
and  here,  one  lovely  moonlit  summer's  evening,  he  is 
leaning  on  the  gate  in  front  of  the  colonel's  quarters, 
utterly  regardless  of  certain  injunctions  as  to  avoiding 
exposure  to  the  night  air.  Good  Mrs.  Wilton,  the 
major's  wife, — who,  army  fashion,  is  helping  Miriam 
keep  house  in  her  father's  absence,— has  gone  in  before 
"  to  light  up,"  she  says,  though  it  is  too  late  for  callers ; 
and  they  have  been  spending  a  long  evening  at  Captain 
Gregg's,  "  down  the  row."  It  is  Miriam  who  keeps 
the  tall  lieutenant  at  the  gate.  She  has  said  good-night, 
yet  lingers.  He  has  been  there  several  days,  his  arm 
still  in  its  sling,  and  not  once  has  she  had  a  word  with 
him  alone  till  now.  Some  one  has  told  her  that  he  has 
asked  for  leave  of  absence  to  go  East  and  settle  some 
business  affairs  he  had  to  leave  abruptly  when  hurrying 
to  take  part  in  the  campaign.  If  this  be  true  is  it  not 
time  to  be  making  her  peace  ? 

I        n  17 


194       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO    THE  PLAINS. 

The  moonlight  throws  a  brilliant  sheen  on  all  sur 
rounding  objects,  yet  she  stands  in  the  shade,  bowered 
in  a  little  archway  of  vines  that  overhangs  the  gate. 
He  has  been  strangely  silent  during  the  brief  walk 
homeward,  and  now,  so  far  from  following  into  the 
shadows  as  she  half  hoped  he  might  do,  he  stands  with 
out,  the  flood  of  moonlight  falling  full  upon  his  stal 
wart  figure.  Two  months  ago  he  would  not  thus  have 
held  aloof,  yet  now  he  is  half  extending  his  hand  as 
though  in  adieu.  She  cannot  fathom  this  strange 
silence  on  the  part  of  him  who  so  long  has  been  devoted 
as  a  lover.  She  knows  well  it  cannot  be  because  of 
her  injustice  to  him  at  the  Point  that  he  is  unrelenting 
now.  Her  eyes  have  told  him  how  earnestly  she 
repents :  and  does  he  not  always  read  her  eyes  ?  Only 
in  faltering  words,  in  the  presence  of  others  all  too 
interested,  has  she  been  able  to  speak  her  thanks  for 
Philip's  rescue.  She  cannot  see  now  that  what  he 
fears  from  her  change  of  mood  is  that  gratitude  for 
her  brother's  safety,  not  a  woman's  response  to  the 
passionate  love  in  his  deep  heart,  is  the  impulse  of 
this  sweet,  half-shy,  half-entreating  manner.  He  can 
not  sue  for  love  from  a  girl  weighted  with  a  sense  of 
obligation.  He  knows  that  lingering  here  is  dangerous, 
yet  he  cannot  go.  When  friends  are  silent  'tis  time  for 
chats  to  close :  but  there  is  a  silence  that  at  such  a  time 
as  this  only  bids  a  man  to  speak,  and  speak  boldly. 
Yet  Lee  is  dumb. 

Once — over  a  year  ago — he  had  come  to  the  colonel's 
quarters  to  seek  permission  to  visit  the  neighboring 
town  on  some  sudden  errand.  She  had  met  him  at  the 
door  with  the  tidings  that  her  father  had  been  feeling 


FROM  "THE  POINT1'    TO    THE  PLAINS.       195 

far  from  well  during  the  morning,  and  was  now  taking 
a  nap. 

"  Won't  I  do  for  commanding  officer  this  time  ?"  she 
had  laughingly  inquired. 

"  I  would  ask  no  better  fate — for  all  time,"  was  his 
prompt  reply,  and  he  spoke  too  soon.  Though  neither 
ever  forgot  the  circumstance,  she  would  never  again 
permit  allusion  to  it.  But  to-night  it  is  uppermost 
in  her  mind.  She  must  know  if  it  be  true  that  he  is 
going. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  suddenly  asks,  "  have  you  applied  for 
leave  of  absence?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answers,  simply. 

"  And  you  are  going — soon  ?" 

"I  am  going  to-morrow,"  is  the  utterly  unlooked- 
for  reply. 

"  To-morrow !     Why— Mr.  Lee  !" 

There  can  be  no  mistaking  the  shock  it  gives  her, 
and  still  he  stands  and  makes  no  sign.  It  is  cruel  of 
him !  What  has  she  said  or  done  to  deserve  penance 
like  this  ?  He  is  still  holding  out  his  hand  as  though 
in  adieu,  and  she  lays  hers,  fluttering,  in  the  broad 
palm. 

"  I — I  thought  all  applications  had  to  be  made  to — 
your  commanding  officer,"  she  says  at  last,  falteringly, 
yet  archly. 

"Major  Wilton  forwarded  mine  on  Monday.  1 
asked  him  to  say  nothing  about  it.  The  answer  came 
by  .wire  to-day." 

"  Major  Wilton  is  post  commander ;  but — did  you 
Dot — a  year ?" 

"  Did  I  not  ?"  he  speaks  in  eager  joy.      "  Do  you 


196       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

mean  you  have  not  forgotten  that  ?  Do  you  mean  that 
now — for  all  time — my  first  allegiance  shall  be  to  you, 
Miriam  ?" 

No  answer  for  a  minute ;  but  her  hand  is  still  firmly 
olasped  in  his.  At  last, — 

"Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  have  asked  me, 
before  applying  for  leave  to  go  ?" 

Mr.  Lee  is  suddenly  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom  of 
that  shaded  bower  under  the  trellis-work,  though  a 
radiance  as  of  mid-day  is  shining  through  his  heart. 

But  soon  he  has  to  go.  Mrs.  Wilton  is  on  the 
veranda,  urging  them  to  come  in  out  of  the  chill  night 
air.  Those  papers  on  his  desk  must  be  completed  and 
filed  this  very  night.  He  told  her  this. 

"To-morrow,  early,  I  will  be  here,"  he  murmurs. 
"And  now,  good-night,  my  own." 

But  she  does  not  seek  to  draw  her  hand  away. 
Slowly  he  moves  back  into  the  bright  moonbeams  and 
she  follows  part  way.  One  quick  glance  she  gives  as 
her  hand  is  released  and  he  raises  his  forage  cap.  It  is 
such  a  disadvantage  to  have  but  one  arm  at  such  a 
time  !  She  sees  that  Mrs.  Wilton  is  at  the  other  end  of 
the  veranda. 

"  Good-night,"  she  whispers.  "  I — know  you  must 
go." 

"  I  must.     There  is  so  much  to  be  done." 

"  I — thought" — another  quick  glance  at  the  piazza 
— "  that  a  soldier,  on  leaving,  should — salute  his  com 
manding  officer  ?" 

And  Romney  Lee  is  again  in  shadow  and — in 
sunshine. 


FROM  "THE  POINT'    TO   THE  PLAINS.       197 

Late  that  autumn,  in  one  of  his  infrequent  letters  to 
his  devoted  mother,  Mr.  McKay  finds  time  to  allude  to 
the  news  of  Lieutenant  Lee's  approaching  marriage  to 
Miss  Stanley. 

"  Phil  is,  of  course,  immensely  pleased,"  he  writes, 
"  and  from  all  I  hear  I  suppose  Mr.  Lee  is  a  very  dif 
ferent  fellow  from  what  we  thought  six  months  ago. 
Pennock  says'  I  always  had  a  wrong  idea  of  him ;  but 
Pennock  thinks  all  my  ideas  about  the  officers  appointed 
over  me  are  absurd.  He  likes  old  Pelican,  our  battery 
commander,  who  is  just  the  crankiest,  crabbedest,  sore- 
headedest  captain  in  all  the  artillery,  and  that  is  saying 
a  good  deal.  I  wish  I'd  got  into  the  cavalry  at  the 
start ;  but  there's  no  use  in  trying  now.  The  — th  is 
the  only  regiment  I  wanted  ;  but  they  have  to  go  to 
reveille  and  stables  before  breakfast,  which  wouldn't 
suit  me  at  all. 

"  Hope  Nan's  better.  A  winter  in  the  Riviera  will 
set  her  up  again.  Stanley  asks  after  her  when  he 
writes,  but  he  has  rather  dropped  me  of  late.  I  sup 
pose  it's  because  I  was  too  busy  to  answer,  though  he 
ought  to  know  that  in  New  York  harbor  a  fellow  has 
no  time  for  scribbling,  whereas,  out  on  the  plains  they 
have  nothing  else  to  do.  He  sent  me  his  picture  a 
while  ago,  and  I  tell  you  he  has  improved  wonderfully. 
Such  a  swell  moustache  !  I  meant  to  have  sent  it  over 
for  you  and  Nan  to  see,  but  I've  mislaid  it  somewhere." 

Poor  little  Nan  !  She  would  give  many  of  her 
treasures  for  one  peep  at  the  coveted  picture  that  Will 
holds  so  lightly.  There  had  been  temporary  improve 
ment  in  her  health  at  the  time  Uncle  Jack  came  with 
the  joyous  tidings  that  Stanley  was  safe  after  all ;  but 

17* 


198       FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

even  the  Riviera  fails  to  restore  her  wonted  spirits. 
She  droops  visibly  during  the  long  winter.  "  She 
grows  so  much  older  away  from  Willy,"  says  the  fond 
mamma,  to  whom  proximity  to  that  vivacious  youth  is 
the  acme  of  earthly  bliss.  Uncle  Jack  grins  and  says 
nothing.  It  is  dawning  upon  him  that  something  is 
needed  besides  the  air  and  sunshine  of  the  Kiviera  to 
bring  back  the  dancing  light  in  those  sweet  blue  eyes 
and  joy  to  the  wistful  little  face. 

"  The  time  to  see  the  Yosemite  and  '  the  glorious  cli 
mate  of  California7  is  April,  not  October,"  he  suddenly 
declares,  one  balmy  morning  by  the  Mediterranean ; 
"  and  the  sooner  we  get  back  to  Yankeedom  the  better 
'twill  suit  me." 

And  so  it  happens  that,  early  in  the  month  of  mete 
orological  smiles  and  tears,  the  trio  are  speeding  west 
ward  far  across  the  rolling  prairies :  Mrs.  McKay  deeply 
scandalized  at  the  heartless  conduct  of  the  War  Depart 
ment  in  refusing  Willy  a  two-months'  leave  to  go  with 
them ;  Uncle  Jack  quizzically  disposed  to  look  upon 
that  calamity  as  a  not  utterly  irretrievable  ill ;  and 
Nan,  fluttering  with  hope,  fear,  joy,  and  dread,  all  in 
termingled  ;  for  is  not  he  stationed  at  Cheyenne?  All 
these  long  months  has  she  cherished  that  little  knot  of 
senseless  ribbon.  If  she  had  sent  it  to  him  within  the 
week  of  his  graduation,  perhaps  it  would  not  have 
seemed  amiss;  but  after  that,  after  all  he  had  been 
through  in  the  campaign, — the  long  months  of  silence, 
— he  might  have  changed,  and,  for  very  shame,  she  can 
not  bring  herself  to  give  a  signal  he  would  perhaps  no 
longer  wish  to  obey.  Every  hour  her  excitement  and 
nervousness  increase;  but  when  the  conductor  of  the 


FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS.       199 

Pullman  comes  to  say  that  Cheyenne  is  really  in  sight, 
and  the  long  whistle  tells  that  they  are  nearing  the 
dinner  station  of  those  days,  Nan  simply  loses  her 
self  entirely.  There  will  be  half  an  hour,  and  Philip 
actually  there  to  see,  to  hear,  to  answer.  She  hardly 
knows  whether  she  is  of  this  mortal  earth  when  Uncle 
Jack  comes  bustling  in  with  the  gray-haired  colonel, 
when  she  feels  Miriam's  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  when  Mr. 
Lee,  handsomer  and  kindlier  than  ever,  bends  down  to 
take  her  hand ;  but  she  looks  beyond  them  all  for  the 
face  she  longs  for, — and  it  is  not  there.  The  car-seems 
whirling  around  when,  from  over  her  shoulder,  she 
hears,  in  the  old,  well-remembered  tones,  a  voice  that 
redoubles  the  throb  of  her  little  heart. 

"  Miss  Nannie !" 

And  there — bending  over  her,  his  face  aglow,  and 
looking  marvellously  well  in  his  cavalry  uniform — is 
Philip  Stanley.  She  knows  not  what  she  says.  She 
has  prepared  something  proper  and  conventional,  but  it 
has  all  fled.  She  looks  one  instant  up  into  his  shining 
eyes,  and  there  is  no  need  to  speak  at  all.  Every  one 
else  is  so  busy  that  no  one  sees,  no  one  knows,  that  he  is 
firmly  clinging  to  her  hand,  and  that  she  shamelessly 
and  passively  submits. 

A  little  later — just  as  the  train  is  about  to  start — 
they  are  standing  at  the  rear  door  of  the  sleeper.  The 
band  of  the  — th  is  playing  some  distance  up  the  plat 
form, — a  thoughtful  device  of  Mr.  Lee's  to  draw  the 
crowd  that  way, — and  they  are  actually  alone.  An  ex 
quisite  happiness  is  in  her  eyes  as  she  peers  up  into  the 
love-light  in  his  strong,  steadfast  face.  Something  must 
have  been  said ;  for  he  draws  her  close  to  his  side  and 


200        FROM  "THE  POINT"    TO   THE  PLAINS. 

bends  over  her  as  though  all  the  world  were  wrapped 
up  in  this  dainty  little  morsel  of  womanhood.  Sud 
denly  the  great  train  begins  slowly  to  move.  Part  they 
must  now,  though  it  be  only  for  a  time.  He  folds  her 
quickly,  unresisting,  to  his  breast.  The  sweet  blue  eyes 
begin  to  fill. 

"  My  darling, — my  little  Nannie,"  he  whispers,  as 
his  lips  kiss  away  the  gathering  tears.  "  There  is  just 
an  instant.  What  is  it  you  tell  me  you  have  kept  for 
me?" 

"  This,"  she  answers,  shyly  placing  in  his  hand  a 
little  packet  wrapped  in  tissue-paper.  "  Don't  look  at 
it  yet !  Wait ! — But — I  wanted  to  send  it — the  very 
next  day,  Philip." 

Slowly  he  turns  her  blushing  face  until  he  can  look 
into  her  eyes.  The  glory  in  his  proud,  joyous  gaze  is 
a  delight  to  see.  "  My  own  little  girl,"  he  whispers, 
as  his  lips  meet  hers.  "  I  know  it  is  my  love-knot." 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE  TROOP. 


JUST  why  that  young  Irishman  should  have  been  so 
baleful ly  branded  was  more  than  the  first  lieutenant  of 
the  troop  could  understand.  To  be  sure,  the  lieutenant's 
opportunities  for  observation  had  been  limited.  He 
had  spent  some  years  on  detached  service  in  the  East, 
and  had  joined  his  comrades  in  Arizona  but  a  fortnight 
ago,  and  here  he  was  already  becoming  rapidly  initi 
ated  in  the  science  of  scouting  through  mountain-wilds 
against  the  wariest  and  most  treacherous  of  foemen, — 
the  Apaches  of  our  Southwestern  territory. 

Coming,  as  he  had  done,  direct  from  a  station  and 
duties  where  full-dress  uniform,  lavish  expenditure  for 
kid  gloves,  bouquets,  and  Lubin's  extracts  were  matters 
of  daily  fact,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  sensations  he 
experienced  on  seeing  his  detachment  equipped  for  the 
scout  were  those  of  mild  consternation.  That  much 
latitude  as  to  individual  dress  and  equipment  was  per 
mitted  he  had  previously  been  informed;  that  "full 
dress/7  and  white  shirts,  collars,  and  the  like  would  be 
left  at  home,  he  had  sense  enough  to  know  ;  but  that 
every  officer  and  man  in  the  command  would  be  allowed 
to  discard  any  and  all  portions  of  the  regulation  uni 
form  and  appear  rigged  out  in  just  such  motley  guise 
as  his  poetic  or  practical  fancy  might  suggest,  had  never 
been  pointed  out  to  him  ;  and  that  he,  commanding  his 

201 


202  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

troop  while  a  captain  commanded  the  little  battalion, 
could  by  any  military  possibility  take  his  place  in  front 
of  his  men  without  his  sabre,  had  never  for  an  instant 
occurred  to  him.  As  a  consequence,  when  he  bolted 
into  the  mess-room  shortly  after  daybreak  on  a  bright 
June  morning  with  that  imposing  but  at  most  times 
useless  item  of  cavalry  equipment  clanking  at  his  heels, 
the  lieutenant  gazed  with  some  astonishment  upon  the 
attire  of  his  brother-officers  there  assembled,  but  found 
himself  the  butt  of  much  good-natured  and  not  over- 
witty  "  chaff,"  directed  partially  at  the  extreme  newness 
and  neatness  of  his  dark-blue  flannel  scouting-shirtand 
high-top  boots,  but  more  especially  at  the  glittering 
sabre  swinging  from  his  waist-belt. 

"  Billings,"  said  Captain  Buxton,  with  much  solem 
nity,  "  while  you  have  probably  learned  through  the 
columns  of  a  horror-stricken  Eastern  press  that  we 
scalp,  alive  or  dead,  all  unfortunates  who  fall  into  our 
clutches,  I  assure  you  that  even  for  that  purpose  the 
cavalry  sabre  has,  in  Arizona  at  least,  outlived  its  use 
fulness.  It  is  too  long  and  clumsy,  you  see.  What 
you  really  want  for  the  purpose  is  something  like  this," 
— and  he  whipped  out  of  its  sheath  a  rusty  but  keen- 
bladed  Mexican  cuchillo, — "  something  you  can  wield 
with  a  deft  turn  of  the  wrist,  you  know.  The  sabre  is 
apt  to  tear  and  mutilate  the  flesh,  especially  when  you 
use  both  hands."  And  Captain  Buxton  winked  at 
the  other  subaltern  and  felt  that  he  had  said  a  good 
thing. 

But  Mr.  Billings  was  a  man  of  considerable  good 
nature  and  ready  adaptability  to  the  society  or  circum 
stances  by  which  he  might  be  surrounded.  "Chaff" 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE  TROOP.  203 

was  a  very  cheap  order  of  wit,  and  the  serenity  of  his 
disposition  enabled  him  to  shake  off  its  effect  as  readily 
as  water  is  scattered  from  the  plumage  of  the  duck. 

"So  you  don't  wear  the  sabre  on  a  scout?  So  much 
the  better.  I  have  my  revolvers  and  a  Sharp's  carbine, 
but  am  destitute  of  anything  in  the  knife  line."  And 
with  that  Mr.  Billings  betook  himself  to  the  duty  of 
despatching  the  breakfast  that  was  already  spread  before 
him  in  an  array  tempting  enough  to  a  frontier  appetite, 
but  little  designed  to  attract  a  bon  vivanl  of  civilization. 
Bacon,  frijoles,  and  creamless  coffee  speedily  become 
ambrosia  and  nectar  under  the  influence  of  mountain- 
air  and  mountain-exercise;  but  Mr.  Billings  had  as  yet 
done  no  climbing.  A  u  buck-board"  ride  had  been  his 
means  of  transportation  to  the  garrison, — a  lonely  four- 
company  post  in  a  far-away  valley  in  Northeastern 
Arizona, — and  in  the  three  or  four  days  of  intense  heat 
that  had  succeeded  his  arrival  exercise  of  any  kind  had 
been  out  of  the  question.  It  was  with  no  especial  re 
gret,  therefore,  that  he  heard  the  summons  of  the  cap 
tain,  "  Hurry  up,  man  ;  we  must  be  off  in  ten  minutes." 
And  in  less  than  ten  minutes  the  lieutenant  was  on  his 
horse  and  superintending  the  formation  of  his  troop. 

If  Mr.  Billings  was  astonished  at  the  garb  of  his 
brother-officers  at  breakfast,  he  was  simply  aghast  when 
he  glanced  along  the  line  of  Company  "  A"  (as  his  com 
mand  was  at  that  time  officially  designated)  and  the  first 
sergeant  rode  out  to  report  his  men  presenter  accounted 
for.  The  first  sergeant  himself  was  got  up  in  an  old 
gray-flannel  shirt,  open  at  and  disclosing  a  broad,  brown 
throat  and  neck ;  his  head  was  crowned  with  what  had 
once  been  a  white  felt  sombrero,  now  tanned  by  desert 


204  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE    TROOP. 

sun,  wind,  and  dirt  into  a  dingy  mud-color ;  his  power 
ful  legs  were  encased  in  worn  deer-skin  breeches  tucked 
into  low-topped,  broad-soled,  well-greased  boots;  his 
waist  was  girt  with  a  rude  "  thimble-belt,"  in  the  loops  of 
which  were  thrust  scores  of  copper  cartridges  for  carbine 
and  pistol ;  his  carbine,  and  those  of  all  the  command, 
swung  in  a  leather  loop  athwart  the  pommel  of  the  sad 
dle  ;  revolvers  in  all  manner  of  cases  hung  at  the  hip, 
the  regulation  holster,  in  most  instances,  being  conspic 
uous  by  its  absence.  Indeed,  throughout  the  entire 
command  the  remarkable  fact  was  to  be  noted  that  a 
company  of  regular  cavalry,  taking  the  field  against 
hostile  Indians,  had  discarded  pretty  much  every  item 
of  dress  or  equipment  prescribed  or  furnished  by  the 
authorities  of  the  United  States,  and  had  supplied 
themselves  with  an  outfit  utterly  ununiform,  unpic- 
turesque,  undeniably  slouchy,  but  not  less  undeniably 
appropriate  and  serviceable.  Not  a  forage-cap  was  to 
be  seen,  not  a  "  campaign-hat"  of  the  style  then  pre 
scribed  by  a  board  of  officers  that  might  have  known 
something  of  hats,  but  never  could  have  had  an  idea  on 
the  subject  of  campaigns.  Fancy  that  black  enormity 
of  weighty  felt,  with  flapping  brim  well-nigh  a  foot  in 
width,  absorbing  the  fiery  heat  of  an  Arizona  sun,  and 
concentrating  the  burning  rays  upon  the  cranium  of 
its  unhappy  wearer !  No  such  head-gear  would  our 
troopers  suffer  in  the  days  when  General  Crook  led  them 
through  the  caflons  and  deserts  of  that  inhospitable 
Territory.  Regardless  of  appearances  or  style  himself, 
seeking  only  comfort  in  his  dress,  the  chief  speedily 
found  means  to  indicate  that,  in  Apache-campaigning 
at  least,  it  was  to  be  a  case  of  "  inter  arma  silent  leges?' 


THE   WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  205 

in  dead  earnest ;  for,  freely  translated,  the  old  saw  read, 
"  No  red-tape  when  Indian-fighting." 

Of  much  of  this  Lieutenant  Billings  was  only  par 
tially  informed,  and  so,  as  has  been  said,  he  was  aghast 
when  he  marked  the  utter  absence  of  uniform  and  the 
decidedly  variegated  appearance  of  his  troop.  Deer 
skin,  buckskin,  canvas,  and  flannels,  leggings,  moccasins, 
and  the  like,  constituted  the  bill  of  dress,  and  old  soft 
felt  hats,  originally  white,  the  head-gear.  If  spurs 
were  worn  at  all,  they  were  of  the  Mexican  variety, 
easy  to  kick  off,  but  sure  to  stay  on  when  wanted. 
Only  two  men  wore  carbine  sling-belts,  and  Mr.  Billings 
was  almost  ready  to  hunt  up  his  captain  and  inquire  if 
by  any  possibility  the  men  could  be  attempting  to  "  put 
up  a  joke  on  him,"  when  the  captain  himself  appeared, 
looking  little  if  any  more  like  the  ideal  soldier  than 
his  men,  and  the  perfectly  satisfied  expression  on  his 
face  as  he  rode  easily  around,  examining  closely  the 
horses  of  the  command,  paying  especial  attention  to 
their  feet  and  the  shoes  thereof,  convinced  the  lieu 
tenant  that  nil  was  as  it  was  expected  to  be,  if  not  as 
it  should  be,  and  he  swallowed  his  surprise  and  held 
his  peace.  Another  moment,  and  Captain  Wayne's 
troop  came  filing  past  in  column  of  twos,  looking,  if 
anything,  rougher  than  his  own 

"  You  follow  right  after  Wayne,"  said  Captain 
Buxton ;  and  with  no  further  formality  Mr.  Billings, 
in  a  perfunctory  sort  of  way,  wheeled  his  men  to  the 
right  by  fours,  broke  into  column  of  twos,  and  closed 
up  on  the  leading  troop. 

Buxton  was  in  high  glee  on  this  particular  morning 
in  June.  He  had  done  very  little  Indian  scouting,  had 

18 


206  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE  TROOP. 

been  but  moderately  successful  in  what  he  had  under 
taken,  and  now,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  necessity 
arose  for  sending  something  more  formidable  than  a 
mere  detachment  down  into  the  Touto  Basin,  in  search 
of  a  powerful  band  of  Apaches  who  had  broken  loose 
from  the  reservation  and  were  taking  refuge  in  the 
foot-hills  of  the  Black  Mesa  or  among  the  wilds  of  the 
Sierra  Ancha.  As  senior  captain  of  the  two,  Buxton 
became  commander  of  the  entire  force, — two  well-filled 
troops  of  regular  cavalry,  some  thirty  Indian  allies  as 
scouts,  and  a  goodly-sized  train  of  pack-mules,  with 
its  full  complement  of  packers,  cargadors,  and  black 
smiths.  He  fully  anticipated  a  lively  fight,  possibly  a 
series  of  them,  and  a  triumphant  return  to  his  post, 
where  hereafter  he  would  be  looked  up  to  and  quoted 
as  an  expert  and  authority  on  Apache-fighting.  He 
knew  just  where  the  hostiles  lay,  and  was  going  straight 
to  the  point  to  flatten  them  out  forthwith ;  and  so  the 
little  command  moved  off  under  admirable  auspices 
and  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

It  was  a  four-days'  hard  march  to  the  locality  where 
Captain  Buxton  counted  on  finding  his  victims;  and 
when  on  the  fourth  day,  rather  tired  and  not  particu 
larly  enthusiastic,  the  command  bivouacked  along  the 
banks  of  a  mountain-torrent,  a  safe  distance  from  the 
supposed  location  of  the  Indian  stronghold,  he  sent 
forward  his  Apache  Mojave  allies  to  make  a  stealthy 
reconnoissance,  feeling  confident  that  soon  after  night 
fall  they  would  return  with  the  intelligence  that  the 
enemy  were  lazily  resting  in  their  "  rancheria,"  all  un 
suspicious  of  his  approach,  and  that  at  daybreak  he 
wxmld  pounce  upon  and  annihilate  them. 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  207 

Soon  after  nightfall  the  scouts  did  return,  but  their 
intelligence  was  not  so  gratifying :  a  small — a  very  small 
—band  of  renegades  had  been  encamped  in  that  vicinity 
some  weeks  before,  but  not  a  "  hostile"  or  sign  of  a 
hostile  was  to  be  found.  Captain  Buxton  hardly  slept 
that  night,  from  disappointment  and  mortification,  and 
when  he  went  the  following  day  to  investigate  for  him 
self  he  found  that  he  had  been  on  a  false  scent  from 
the  start,  and  this  made  him  crabbed.  A  week's  hunt 
through  the  mountains  resulted  in  no  better  luck,  and 
now,  having  had  only  fifteen  days7  rations  at  the  out 
set,  he  was  most  reluctantly  and  savagely  marching 
homeward  to  report  his  failure. 

But  Mr.  Billings  had  enjoyed  the  entire  trip.  Sleep 
ing  in  the  open  air  without  other  shelter  than  their 
blankets  afforded,  scouting  by  day  in  single  file  over 
miles  of  mere  game-trails,  up  hill  and  down  dale 
through  the  wildest  and  most  dolefully-picturesque 
scenery  he  "  at  least"  had  ever  beheld,  under  frowning 
cliffs  and  beetling  crags,  through  dense  forests  of  pine 
and  juniper,  through  mountain-torrents  swollen  with 
the  melting  snows  of  the  crests  so  far  above  them, 
through  canons,  deep,  dark,  and  gloomy,  searching 
ever  for  traces  of  the  foe  they  were  ordered  to  find  and 
fight  forthwith,  Mr.  Billings  and  his  men,  having  no 
responsibility  upon  their  shoulders,  were  happy  and 
healthy  as  possible,  and  consequently  in  small  sym 
pathy  with  their  irate  leader. 

Every  afternoon  when  they  halted  beside  some  one 
of  the  hundreds  of  mountain-brooks  that  came  tumbling 
down  from  the  gorges  of  the  Black  Mesa,  the  men 
were  required  to  look  carefully  at  the  horses'  backs 


208  THE  WORST  MAN  IN   THE   TROOP. 

and  feet,  for  mountain  Arizona  is  terrible  on  shoes, 
equine  or  human.  This  had  to  be  done  before  the 
herds  were  turned  out  to  graze  with  their  guard  around 
them ;  and  often  some  of  the  men  would  get  a  wisp 
of  straw  or  a  suitable  wipe  of  some  kind,  and  thor 
oughly  rub  down  their  steeds.  Strolling  about  among 
them,  as  he  always  did  at  this  time,  our  lieutenant  had 
noticed  a  slim  but  trimly-built  young  Irishman  whose 
care  of  and  devotion  to  his  horse  it  did  him  good  to 
see.  No  matter  how  long  the  march,  how  severe  the 
fatigue,  that  horse  was  always  looked  after,  his  grazing- 
ground  pre-empted  by  a  deftly-thrown  picket-pin  and 
lariat  which  secured  to  him  all  the  real  estate  that  could 
be  surveyed  within  the  circle  of  which  the  pin  was  the 
centre  and  the  lariat  the  radius- vector. 

Between  horse  and  master  the  closest  comradeship 
seemed  to  exist ;  the  trooper  had  a  way  of  softly  sing 
ing  or  talking  to  his  friend  as  he  rubbed  him  down,  and 
Mr.  Billings  was  struck  with  the  expression  and  taste 
with  which  the  little  soldier — for  he  was  only  five  feet 
five — would  render  "  Molly  Bawn"  and  "  Kitty  Tyr 
rell."  Except  when  thus  singing  or  exchanging  confi 
dences  with  his  steed,  he  was  strangely  silent  and  re 
served  ;  he  ate  his  rations  among  the  other  men,  yet 
rarely  spoke  with  them,  and  he  would  ride  all  day 
through  country  marvellous  for  wild  beauty  and  be  the 
only  man  in  the  command  who  did  not  allow  himself 
to  give  vent  to  some  expression  of  astonishment  or 
delight. 

"  What  is  that  man's  name  ?"  asked  Mr.  Billings  of 
the  first  sergeant  one  evening. 

"O'Grady,  sir/'  replied  the  sergeant,  with  his  sol- 


THE   WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  209 

dierly  salute ;  and  a  little  later,  as  Captain  Buxton  was 
fretfully  complaining  to  his  subaltern  of  the  ill  fortune 
that  seemed  to  overshadow  his  best  efforts,  the  latter, 
thinking  to  cheer  him  and  to  divert  his  attention  from 
his  trouble,  referred  to  the  troop : 

"  Why,  captain,  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  finer  set 
of  men  than  you  have — anywhere.  Now,  there's  a 
little  fellow  who  strikes  me  as  being  a  perfect  light- 
cavalry  soldier."  And  the  lieutenant  indicated  his 
young  Irishman. 

"  You  don't  mean  O'Grady  ?"  asked  the  captain  in 
surprise. 

"  Yes,  sir, — the  very  one." 

"  Why,  he's  the  worst  man  in  the  troop." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Billings  knew  not  what  to  say. 
His  captain  had  spoken  with  absolute  harshness  and 
dislike  in  his  tone  of  the  one  soldier  of  all  others  who 
seemed  to  be  the  most  quiet,  attentive,  and  alert  of  the 
troop.  He  had  noticed,  too,  that  the  sergeants  and  the 
men  generally,  in  speaking  to  O'Grady,  were  wont  to 
fall  into  a  kindlier  tone  than  usual,  and,  though  they 
sometimes  squabbled  among  themselves  over  the  choice 
of  patches  of  grass  for  their  horses,  O'Grady's  claim 
was  never  questioned,  much  less  "jumped."  Respect 
for  his  superior's  rank  would  not  permit  the  lieutenant 
to  argue  the  matter  ;  but,  desiring  to  know  more  about 
the  case,  he  spoke  again : 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it.  His  care  of  his  horse 
and  his  quiet  ways  impressed  me  so  favorably." 

"  Oh,  yes,  d — n  him  !"  broke  in  Captain  Buxton. 
"  Horses  and  whiskey  are  the  only  things  on  earth  he 
cares  for.  As  to  quiet  ways,  there  isn't  a  worse  devil 
o  IS* 


210  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

at  large  than  O'Grady  with  a  few  drinks  in  him.  When 
I  came  back  from  two  years'  recruiting  detail  he  was  a 
sergeant  in  the  troop.  I  never  knew  him  before,  but  I 
soon  found  he  was  addicted  to  drink,  and  after  a  while 
had  to  '  break'  him  ;  and  one  night  when  he  was  raising 
hell  in  the  quarters,  and  I  ordered  him  into  the  dark 
cell,  he  turned  on  me  like  a  tiger.  By  Jove!  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  some  of  the  men  he  would  have  killed 
me, — or  I  him.  He  was  tried  by  court-martial,  but 
most  of  the  detail  was  made  up  of  infantrymen  and 

staff-officers  from  Crook's  head-quarters,  and,  by ! 

they  didn't  seem  to  think  it  any  sin  for  a  soldier  to 
threaten  to  cut  his  captain's  heart  out,  and  Crook  him 
self  gave  me  a  sort  of  a  rap  in  his  remarks  on  the  case, 
and — well,  they  just  let  O'Grady  off  scot-free  between 
them,  gave  him  some  little  fine,  and  did  more  harm 
than  good.  He's  just  as  surly  and  insolent  now  when 
I  speak  to  him  as  he  was  that  night  when  drunk.  Here, 
I'll  show  you."  And  with  that  Captain  Buxton  started 
off  towards  the  herd,  Mr.  Billings  obediently  following, 
but  feeling  vaguely  ill  at  ease.  He  had  never  met  Cap 
tain  Buxton  before,  but  letters  from  his  comrades  had 
prepared  him  for  experiences  not  altogether  pleasant. 
A  good  soldier  in  some  respects,  Captain  Buxton  bore 
the  reputation  of  having  an  almost  ungovernable  tom- 
per,  of  being  at  times  brutally  violent  in  his  language 
and  conduct  towards  his  men,  and,  worse  yet,  of  bearing 
ill-concealed  malice,  and  "  nursing  his  wrath  to  keep  it- 
warm"  against  such  of  his  enlisted  men  as  had  ever 
ventured  to  appeal  for  justice.  The  captain  stopped  on 
reaching  the  outskirts  of  the  quietly-grazing  herd. 
"  Corporal,"  said  he  to  the  non-commissioned  officer 


THE   WORST  MAN  IN   THE   TROOP.  211 

in  charge,  "  isn't  that  O'Grady's  horse  off  there  to  the 
left?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Go  and  tell  O'Grady  to  come  here/' 

The  corporal  saluted  and  went  off  on  his  errand. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Billings,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  have  re 
peatedly  given  orders  that  my  horses  must  be  side-lined 
when  we  are  in  the  hostiles'  country.  Just  come  here 
to  the  left."  And  he  walked  over  towards  a  handsome, 
sturdy  little  California  horse  of  a  bright  bay  color. 
t(  Here,  you  see,  is  O'Grady's  horse,  and  not  a  side-line  : 
that's  his  way  of  obeying  orders.  More  than  that,  he 
is  never  content  to  have  his  horse  in  among  the  others, 
but  must  always  get  away  outside,  just  where  he  is  most 
apt  to  be  run  off  by  any  Indian  sharp  and  quick  enough 
to  dare  it.  Now,  here  comes  O'Grady.  Watch  him, 
if  yon  want  to  see  him  in  his  true  light." 

Standing  beside  his  superior,  Mr.  Billings  looked 
towards  the  approaching  trooper,  who,  with  a  quick, 
springy  step,  advanced  to  within  a  few  yards  of  them, 
then  stopped  short  and,  erect  and  in  silence,  raised  his 
hand  in  salute,  and  with  perfectly  respectful  demeanor 
looked  straight  at  his  captain. 

In.  a  voice  at  once  harsh  and  distinctly  audible  over 
the  entire  bivouac,  with  frowning  brow  and  angry  eyes, 
Buxton  demanded, — 

"  O'Grady,  where  are  your  side-lines  ?" 

"  Over  with  my  blankets,  sir." 

"  Over  with  your  blankets,  are  they  ?  Why  in , 

sir,  are  they  not  here  on  your  horse,  where  they  ought 
to  be  ?"  And  the  captain's  voice  waxed  harsher  and 
louder,  and  his  manner  more  threatening. 


212  THE  WORST  MAN  IN   THE   TROOP. 

"  I  understood  the  captain's  orders  to  be  that  they 
need  not  go  on  till  sunset,"  replied  the  soldier,  calmly 
and  respectfully,  "  and  I  don't  like  to  put  them  on  that 
sore  place,  sir,  until  the  last  moment." 

"Don't  like  to?  No  sir,  I  know  d — d  well  you 
don't  like  to  obey  this  or  any  other  order  I  ever  gave, 
and  wherever  you  find  a  loop-hole  through  which  to 
crawl,  and  you  think  you  can  sneak  off  unpunished,  by 

,  sir,  I  suppose  you  will  go  on  disobeying  orders. 

Shut  up,  sir  !  not  a  d — d  word  !"  for  tears  of  mortifi 
cation  were  starting  to  O'Grady's  eyes,  and  with  flush 
ing  face  and  trembling  lip  the  soldier  stood  helplessly 
before  his  troop-commander,  and  was  striving  to  say  a 
word  in  further  explanation. 

"  Go  and  get  your  side-lines  at  once  and  bring  them 
here ;  go  at  once,  sir,"  shouted  the  captain ;  and  with  a 
lump  in  his  throat  the  trooper  saluted,  faced  about,  and 
walked  away. 

"  He's  milder-mannered  than  usual,  d — n  him !"  said 
the  captain,  turn  ing  to  wards  his  subaltern,  who  had  stood 
a  silent  and  pained  witness  of  the  scene.  "  He  knows 
he  is  in  the  wrong  and  has  no  excuse ;  but  he'll  break 
out  yet.  Come !  step  out,  you  O'Grady !"  he  yelled 
after  the  rapidly-walking  soldier.  "  Double  time,  sir. 
I  can't  wait  here  all  night."  And  Mr.  Billings  noted 
that  silence  had  fallen  on  the  bivouac  so  full  of  sc  Idier- 
chaff  and  laughter  but  a  moment  before,  and  that  the 
men  of  both  troops  were  intently  watching  the  scene 
already  so  painful  to  him. 

Obediently  O'Grady  took  up  the  "  dog-trot"  required 
of  him,  got  his  side-lines,  and,  running  back,  knelt  be 
side  his  horse,  and  with  trembling  hands  adjusted  them, 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  TEE  TROOP.  213 

during  which  performance  Captain  Buxton  stood  over 
him,  and,  in  a  tone  that  grew  more  and  more  that  of  a 
bully  as  he  lashed  himself  up  into  a  rage,  continued  his 
lecture  to  the  man. 

The  latter  finally  rose,  and,  with  huge  beads  of  per 
spiration  starting  out  on  his  forehead,  faced  his  captain. 

" May  I  say  a  word,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"  You  may  now  ;  but  be  d — d  careful  how  you  say 
it,"  was  the  reply,  with  a  sneer  that  would  have  stung 
an  abject  slave  into  a  longing  for  revenge,  and  that 
grated  on  Mr.  Billings's  nerves  in  a  way  that  made  him 
clinch  his  fists  and  involuntarily  grit  his  teeth.  Could 
it  be  that  O'Grady  detected  it?  One  quick,  wistful, 
half-appealing  glance  flashed  from  the  Irishman's  eyes 
towards  the  subaltern,  and  then,  with  evident  effort  at 
composure,  but  with  a  voice  that  trembled  with  the 
pent-up  sense  of  wrong  and  injustice,  O'Grady  spoke: 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  had  no  thought  of  neglecting  orders. 
I  always  care  for  my  horse ;  but  it  wasn't  sunset  when 
the  captain  came  out " 

"  Not  sunset !"  broke  in  Buxton,  with  an  outburst 
of  profanity.  "  Not  sunset !  why,  it's  well-nigh  dark 
now,  sir,  and  every  man  in  the  troop  had  side-lined  his 
horse  half  an  hour  ago.  D — n  your  insolence,  sir ! 
your  excuse  is  worse  than  your  conduct.  Mr.  Billings, 
see  to  it,  sir,  that  this  man  walks  and  leads  his  horse 
in  rear  of  the  troop  all  the  way  back  to  the  post.  I'll 

see,  by !  whether  he  can  be  taught  to  obey  orders." 

And  with  that  the  captain  turned  and  strode  away. 

The  lieutenant  stood  for  an  instant  stunned, — sim 
ply  stunned.  Involuntarily  he  made  a  step  towards 
O'Grady;  their  eyes  met ;  but  the  restraint  of  discipline 


214  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

was  upon  both.  In  that  brief  meeting  of  their  glances, 
however,  the  trooper  read  a  message  that  was  unmis 
takable. 

"  Lieutenant  "  he  said,  but  stopped  abruptly, 

pointed  aloft  over  the  trees  to  the  eastward  with  his 
right  hand,  dashed  it  across  his  eyes,  and  then,  with 
hurried  salute  and  a  choking  sort  of  gurgle  in  his. 
throat,  he  turned  and  went  back  to  his  comrades. 

Mr.  Billings  gazed  after  the  retreating  form  until  It 
disappeared  among  the  trees  by  the  brook-side ;  then 
he  turned  to  see  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  soldier's 
pointing  over  towards  the  mesa  to  the  east. 

Down  in  the  deep  valley  in  which  the  little  com 
mand  had  halted  for  the  night  the  pall  of  darkness 
had  indeed  begun  to  settle;  the  bivouac-fires  in  the 
timber  threw  a  lurid  glare  upon  the  groups  gathering 
around  them  for  supper,  and  towards  the  west  the 
rugged  upheavals  of  the  Mazatzal  range  stood  like  a 
black  barrier  against  the  glorious  hues  of  a  bank  of 
summer  cloud.  All  in  the  valley  spoke  of  twilight 
and  darkness:  the  birds  were  still,  the  voices  of  the 
men  subdued.  So  far  as  local  indications  were  con 
cerned,  it  was — as  Captain  Buxton  had  insisted — al 
most  dark.  But  square  over  the  gilded  tree-tops  to 
the  east,  stretching  for  miles  and  miles  to  their  right 
and  left,  blazed  a  vertical  wall  of  rock  crested  witli 
scrub-oak  and  pine,  every  boulder,  every  tree,  glitter 
ing  in  the  radiant  light  of  the  invisibly  setting  sun. 
O'Grady  had  not  disobeyed  his  orders. 

Noting  this,  Mr.  Billings  proceeded  to  take  a  leisurely 
stroll  through  the  peaceful  herd,  carefully  inspecting 
each  horse  as  he  passed.  As  a  result  of  his  scrutiny, 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  215 

he  found  that,  while  most  of  the  horses  were  already 
encumbered  with  their  annoying  hobble,  in  "  A"  Troop 
alone  there  were  at  least  a  dozen  still  unfettered,  nota 
bly  the  mounts  of  the  non-commissioned  officers  and 
the  older  soldiers.  Like  O'Grady,  they  did  not  wish 
to  inflict  the  side-line  upon  their  steeds  until  the  last 
moment.  Unlike  O'Grady,  they  had  not  been  called 
to  account  for  it. 

When  Mr.  Billings  was  summoned  to  supper,  and 
he  rejoined  his  brother-officers,  it  was  remarked  that 
he  was  more  taciturn  than  usual.  After  that  repast 
had  been  appreciatively  disposed  of,  and  the  little  group 
with  lighted  pipes  prepared  to  spend  an  hour  in  chat 
and  contentment,  it  was  observed  that  Mr*  Billings  did 
not  take  part  in  the  general  talk,  but  that  he  soon  rose, 
and,  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  officers'  camp-fire,  paced 
restlessly  up  and  down,  with  his  head  bent  forward, 
evidently  plunged  in  thought. 

By  and  by  the  half-dozen  broke  up  and  sought  their 
blankets.  Captain  Buxton,  somewhit  mollified  by  a 
good  supper,  was  about  rolling  into  his, "  Navajo,"  when 
Mr.  Billings  stepped  up : 

"  Captain,  may  I  ask  for  information  as  to  the  side 
line  order  ?  After  you  left  this  evening,  I  found  that 
there  must  be  some  misunderstanding  about  it." 

"  How  so  ?"  said  Buxton,  shortly. 

"  In  this,  captain  ;"  and  Mr.  Billings  spoke  very 
calmly  and  distinctly.  "The  first  sergeant,  several 
other  non-commissioned  officers  and  men, — more  than 
a  dozen,  I  should  say, — did  not  side-line  their  horses  % 
until  half  an  hour  after  you  spoke  to  O'Grady,  and  the 
first  sergeant  assured  me,  when  I  called  him  to  account 


216  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

for  it,  that  your  orders  were  that  it  should  be  done  at 
sunset." 

"  Well,  by !  it  was  after  sunset — at  least  it  was 

getting  mighty  dark — when  I  sent  for  that  black 
guard  O'Grady,"  said  Buxton,  impetuously,  "  and  there 
is  no  excuse  for  the  rest  of  them." 

"  It  was  beginning  to  grow  dark  down  in  this  deep 
valley,  I  know,  sir ;  but  the  tree-tops  were  in  a  broad 
glare  of  sunlight  while  we  were  at  the  herd,  and  those 
cliffs  for  half  an  hour  longer." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Billings,  I  don't  propose  to  have  any 
hair-splitting  in  the  management  of  my  troop,"  said 
the  captain,  manifestly  nettled.  "  It  was  practically 
sunset  to  us  when  the  light  began  to  grow  dim,  and 
my  men  know  it  well  enough."  And  with  that  he 
rolled  over  and  turned  his  back  to  his  subaltern. 

Disregarding  the  broad  hint  to  leave,  Mr.  Billings 
again  spoke : 

"  Is  it  your  wish,  sir,  that  any  punishment  should 
be  imposed  on  the  men  who  were  equally  in  fault  with 
O'Grady?" 

Buxton  muttered  something  unintelligible  from  un 
der  his  blankets. 

"  I  did  not  understand  you,  sir,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
very  civilly. 

Buxton  savagely  propped  himself  up  on  one  elbow, 
and  blurted  out, — 

"  No,  Mr.  Billings !  no !  When  I  want  a  man 
punished  I'll  give  the  order  myself,  sir." 

"  And  is  it  still  your  wish,  sir,  that  I  make  O'Grady 
walk  the  rest  of  the  way  ?" 

For  a  moment  Buxton  hesitated ;  his  better  nature 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE  TROOP.  217 

struggled  to  assert  itself  and  induce  him  to  undo  the 
injustice  of  his  order;  but  the  "cad"  in  his  disposi 
tion,  the  weakness  of  his  character,  prevailed.  It 
would  never  do  to  let  his  lieutenant  get  the  upper 
hand  of  him,  he  argued,  and  so  the  reply  came,  and 
came  angrily. 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  he  deserves  it  anyhow,  by ! 

and  it'll  do  him  good." 

Without  another  word  Mr.  Billings  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  him. 

The  command  returned  to  garrison,  shaved  its  stubbly 
beard  of  two  weeks'  growth,  and  resumed  its  uniform 
and  the  routine  duties  of  the  post.  Three  days  only 
had  it  been  back  when  Mr.  Billings,  marching  on  as 
officer  of  the  day,  and  receiving  the  prisoners  from  his 
predecessor,  was  startled  to  hear  the  list  of  names 
wound  up  with  "  O'Grady,"  and  when  that  name  was 
called  there  was  no  response. 

The  old  officer  of  the  day  looked  up  inquiringly: 
"  Where  is  O'Grady,  sergeant?" 

"  In  the  cell,  sir,  unable  to  come  out. 

"  O'Grady  was  confined  by  Captain  Buxton's  order 
late  last  night,"  said  Captain  Wayne,  "  and  I  fancy  the 
poor  fellow  has  been  drinking  heavily  this  time." 

A  few  minutes  after,  the  reliefs  being  told  off,  the 
prisoners  sent  out  to  work,  and  the  officers  of  the  day, 
new  and  old,  having  made  their  reports  to  the  com 
manding  officer,  Mr.  Billings  returned  to  the  guard 
house,  and,  directing  his  sergeant  to  accompany  him* 
proceeded  to  make  a  deliberate  inspection  of  the 
premises.  The  guard-room  itself  was  neat,  clean,  and 
dry;  the  garrison  prison-room  was  well  ventilated, 
K  19 


218  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

and  tidy  as  such  rooms  ever  can  be  made ;  the  Indian 
prison-room,  despite  the  fact  that  it  was  empty  and 
every  shutter  was  thrown  wide  open  to  the  breeze, 
had  that  indefinable,  suffocating  odor  which  continued 
aboriginal  occupancy  will  give  to  any  apartment ;  but 
it  was  the  cells  Mr.  Billings  desired  to  see,  and  the 
sergeant  led  him  to  a  row  of  heavily-barred  doors  of 
rough  unplaned  timber,  with  a  little  grating  in  each, 
and  from  one  of  these  gratings  there  peered  forth  a 
pair  of  feverishly-glittering  eyes,  and  a  face,  not  bloated 
and  flushed,  as  with  recent  and  heavy  potations,  but 
white,  haggard,  twitching,  and  a  husky  voice  in  piteous 
appeal  addressed  the  sergeant : 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake,  Billy,  get  me  something,  or 
it'll  kill  me!" 

"  Hush,  O'Grady,"  said  the  sergeant :  "  here's  the 
officer  of  the  day." 

Mr.  Billings  took  one  look  at  the  wan  face  only 
dimly  visible  in  that  prison- light,  for  the  poor  little 
man  shrank  back  as  he  recognized  the  form  of  his 
lieutenant : 

"  Open  that  door,  sergeant." 

With  alacrity  the  order  was  obeyed,  and  the  heavy 
door  swung  back  upon  its  hinges. 

"  O'Grady,"  said  the  officer  of  the  day,  in  a  tone  gen 
tle  as  that  he  would  have  employed  in  speaking  to  a 
woman,  "come  out  here  to  me.  I'm  afraid  you  are 
sick." 

Shaking,  trembling,  twitching  in  every  limb,  with 
wild,  dilated  eyes  and  almost  palsied  step,  O'Grady 
came  out. 

"  Look  to  him  a  moment,  sergeant,"  said  Mr.  Bil- 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  219 

lings,  and,  bending  low,  he  stepped  into  the  cell.  The 
atmosphere  was  stifling,  and  in  another  instant  he  backed 
out  into  the  hall-way.  "  Sergeant,  was  it  by  the  com 
manding  officer's  order  that  O'Grady  was  put  in 
there  ?" 

"  No,  sir;  Captain  Buxton's." 

"  See  that  he  is  not  returned  there  during  my  tour, 
unless  the  orders  come  from  Major  Stannard.  Bring 
O'Grady  into  the  prison-room." 

Here  in  the  purer  air  and  brighter  light  he  looked 
carefully  over  the  poor  fellow,  as  the  latter  stood  before 
him  quivering  from  head  to  foot  and  hiding  his  face  in 
his  shaking  hands.  Then  the  lieutenant  took  him  gen 
tly  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to  a  bunk : 

"  O'Grady,  man,  lie  down  here.  I'm  going  to  get 
something  that  will  help  you.  Tell  me  one  thing: 
how  long  had  you  been  drinking  before  you  were  con 
fined?" 

"  About  forty-eight  hours,  sir,  off  and  on." 

"  How  long  since  you  ate  anything  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir ;  not  for  two  days,  I  think." 

"  Well,  try  and  lie  still.  I'm  coming  back  to  you 
in  a  very  few  minutes." 

And  with  that  Mr.  Billings  strode  from  the  room^ 
leaving  O'Grady,  dazed,  wonder-stricken,  gazing  stu 
pidly  after  him. 

The  lieutenant  went  straight  to  his  quarters,  took  a 
goodly-sized  goblet  from  the  painted  pine  sideboard, 
and  with  practised  hand  proceeded  to  mix  therein  a 
beverage  in  which  granulated  sugar,  Angostura  bitters, 
and  a  few  drops  of  lime-juice  entered  as  minor  ingre 
dients,  and  the  coldest  of  spring-water  and  a  brimming 


220  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

measure  of  whiskey  as  constituents  of  greater  qualify 
and  quantity.  Filling  with  this  mixture  a  small  leather- 
covered  flask,  and  stowing  it  away  within  the  breast 
pocket  of  his  blouse,  he  returned  to  the  guard-house, 
musing  as  he  went,  " '  If  this  be  treason,'  said  Patrick 
Henry,  '  make  the  most  of  it.'  If  this  be  conduct 
prejudicial,  etc.,  say  I,  do  your,  d — dest.  That  man 
would  be  in  the  horrors  of  jim-jams  in  half  an  hour 
more  if  it  were  not  for  this."  And  so  saying  to  him 
self,  he  entered  the  prison-room,  called  to  the  sergeant 
to  .bring  him  some  cold  water,  and  then  approached 
O'Grady,  who  rose  unsteadily  and  strove  to  stand  atten 
tion,  but  the  effort  was  too  much,  and  again  he  covered 
his  face  with  his  arms,  and  threw  himself  in  utter 
misery  at  the  foot  of  the  bunk. 

Mr.  Billings  drew  the  flask  from  his  pocket,  and, 
touching  O'Grady's  shoulder,  caused  him  to  raise  his 
head : 

"  Drink  this,  .my  lad.  I  would  not  give  it  to  you  at 
another  time,  but  you  need  it  now." 

Eagerly  it  was  seized,  eagerly  drained,  and  then,  after 
he  had  swallowed  a  long  draught  of  the  water,  O'Grady 
slowly  rose  to  his  feet,  looking,  with  eyes  rapidly  soft 
ening  and  losing  their  wild  glare,  upon  the  young  officer 
who  stood  before  him.  Once  or  twice  he  passed  his 
hands  across  his  forehead,  as  though  to  sweep  away  the 
cobwebs  that  pressed  upon  his  brain,  but  for  a  moment 
he  did  not  essay  a  word.  Little  by  little  the  color  crept 
back  to  his  cheek  ;  and,  noting  this,  Mr.  Billings  smiled 
very  quietly,  and  said,  "  Now,  O'Grady,  lie  down  ;  you 
will  be  able  to  sleep  now  until  the  men  come  in  at  noon  ; 
then  you  shall  have  another  drink,  and  you'll  be  able 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  221 

to  eat  what  I  send  you.  If  you  cannot  sleep,  call  the 
sergeant  of  the  guard ;  or  if  you  want  anything,  I'll 
come  to  you." 

Then,  with  tears  starting  to  his  eyes,  the  soldier  found 
words :  "  I  thank  the  lieutenant.  If  I  live  a  thousand 
years,  sir,  this  will  never  be  forgotten, — never,  sir !  IM 
have  gone  crazy  without  your  help,  sir." 

Mr.  Billings  held  out  his  hand,  and,  taking  that  of 
his  prisoner,  gave  it  a  cordial  grip  :  "  That's  all  right, 
O'Grady.  Try  to  sleep  now,  and  we'll  pull  you  through. 
Good-by,  for  the  present."  And,  with  a  heart  lighter, 
somehow,  than  it  had  been  of  late,  the  lieutenant  left. 

At  noon  that  day,  when  the  prisoners  came  in  from 
labor  and  the  officer's  of  the  day  inspected  their  general 
condition  before  permitting  them  to  go  to  their  dinner, 
the  sergeant  of  the  guard  informed  him  that  O'Grady 
had  slept  quietly  almost  all  the  morning,  but  was  then 
awake  and  feeling  very  much  better,  though  still  weak 
and  nervous. 

"  Do  you  think  he  can  walk  over  to  my  quarters  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Billings. 

"  He  will  try  it,  sir,  or  anything  the  lieutenant  wants 
him  to  try." 

"  Then  send  him  over  in  about  ten  minutes." 

Home  once  more,  Mr.  Billings  started  a  tiny  blaze  in 
his  oil-stove,  and  soon  had  a  kettle  of  water  boiling 
merrily.  Sharp  to  time  a  member  of  the  guard  tapped 
at  the  door,  and,  on  being  bidden  "  Come  in,"  entered, 
ushering  in  O'Grady ;  but  meantime,  by  the  aid  of  a 
little  pot  of  meat-juice  and  some  cayenne  pepper,  a  glass 
of  hot  soup  or  beef-tea  had  been  prepared,  and,  with 
some  dainty  slices  of  potted  chicken  and  the  accompani- 


222  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

ments  of  a  cup  of  fragrant  tea  and  some  ship-biscuit, 
was  in  readiness  on  a  little  table  in  the  back  room. 

Telling  the  sentinel  to  remain  in  the  shade  on  the 
piazza,  the  lieutenant  proceeded  first  to  make  O'Grady 
sit  down  in  a  big  wicker  arm-chair,  for  the  man  in  his 
broken  condition  was  well-nigh  exhausted  by  his  walk 
across  the  glaring  parade  in  the  heat  of  an  Arizona 
noonday  sun.  Then  he  mixed  and  administered  the 
counterpart  of  the  beverage  he.  had  given  his  prisoner- 
patient  in  the  morning,  only  in  point  of  potency  it  was 
an  evident  falling  off,  but  sufficient  for  the  purpose, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  O'Grady  was  able  to  swallow  his 
breakfast  with  evident  relish,  meekly  and  unhesitatingly 
obeying  every  suggestion  of  his  superior. 

His  breakfast  finished,  O'Grady  was  then  conducted 
into  a  cool,  darkened  apartment,  a  back  room  in  the 
lieutenant's  quarters. 

"Now,  pull  off  your  boots  and  outer  clothing,  man, 
spread  yourself  on  that  bed,  and  go  to  sleep,  if  you  can. 
If  you  can't,  and  you  want  to  read,  there  are  books  and 
papers  on  that  shelf  ;  pin  up  the  blanket  on  the  window, 
and  you'll  have  light  enough.  You  shall  not  be  dis 
turbed,  and  I  know  you  won't  attempt  to  leave." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  won't/'  began  O'Grady,  eagerly ;  but 
the  lieutenant  had  vanished,  closing  the  door  after  him, 
and  a  minute  later  the  soldier  had  thrown  himself  upon 
the  cool,  white  bed,  and  was  crying  like  a  tired  child. 

Three  or  four  weeks  after  this  incident,  to  the  small 
regret  of  his  troop  and  the  politely-veiled  indifference 
of  the  commissioned  element  of  the  garrison,  Captain 
Buxton  concluded  to  avail  himself  of  a  long-deferred 
"  leave,"  and  turned  over  his  company  property  to  Mr. 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  223 

Billings  in  a  condition  that  rendered  it  necessary  for 
him  to  do  a  thing  that  "  ground"  him,  so  to  speak  :  he 
had  to  ask  several  favors  of  his  lieutenant,  between 
whom  and  himself  there  had  been  no  cordiality  since 
the  episode  of  the  bivouac,  and  an  open  rupture  since 
Mr.  Billings's  somewhat  eventful  tour  as  officer  of  the 
day,  which  has  just  been  described. 

It  appeared  that  O'Grady  had  been  absent  from  no 
duty  (there  were  no  drills  in  that  scorching  June 
weather),  but  that,  yielding  to  the  advice  of  his  com 
rades,  who  knew  that  he  had  eaten  nothing  for  two 
days  and  was  drinking  steadily  into  a  condition  that 
would  speedily  bring  punishment  upon  him,  he  had 
asked  permission  to  be  sent  to  the  hospital,  where,  while 
he  could  get  no  liquor,  there  would  be  no  danger  attend 
ant  upon  his  sudden  stop  of  all  stimulant.  The  first 
sergeant  carried  his  request  with  the  sick-book  to  Cap 
tain  Buxton,  O'Grady  meantime  managing  to  take  two 
or  three  more  pulls  at  the  bottle,  and  Buxton,  instead 
of  sending  him  to  the  hospital,  sent  for  him,  inspected 
him,  and  did  what  he  had  no  earthly  authority  to  do, 
directed  the  sergeant  of  the  guard  to  confine  him  at 
once  in  the  dark  cell. 

"It  will  be  no  punishment  as  he  is  now,"  said 
Buxton  to  himself,  "but  it  will  be  hell  when  he 
wakes." 

And  so  it  had  been  ;  and  far  worse  it  probably  would 
have  been  but  for  Mr.  Billings's  merciful  interference. 

Expecting  to  find  his  victim  in  a  condition  border 
ing  upon  the  abject  and  ready  to  beg  for  mercy  at  any 
sacrifice  of  pluck  or  pride,  Buxton  had  gone  to  the 
guard-house  soon  after  retreat  and  told  the  sergeant 


224  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE  TROOP. 

that  he  desired  to  see  O'Grady,  if  the  man  was  fit  to 
come  out. 

What  was  his  surprise  when  the  soldier  stepped  forth 
in  his  trimmest  undress  uniform,  erect  and  steady,  and 
stood  unflinchingly  before  him ! — a  day's  rest  and  quiet, 
a  warm  bath,  wholesome  and  palatable  food,  careful 
nursing,  and  the  kind  treatment  he  had  received  having 
brought  him  round  with  a  sudden  turn  that  he  him 
self  could  hardly  understand. 

"How  is  this?"  thundered  Buxton.  "I  ordered 
you  kept  in  the  dark  cell." 

"  The  officer  of  the  day  ordered  him  released,  sir," 
said  the  sergeant  of  the  guard. 

And  Buxton,  choking  with  rage,  stormed  into  the 
mess-room,  where  the  younger  officers  were  at  dinner, 
end,  regardless  of  the  time,  place,  or  surroundings, 
opened  at  once  upon  his  subaltern : 

"  Mr.  Billings,  by  whose  authority  did  you  release 
O'Grady  from  the  dark  cell?" 

Mr.  Billings  calmly  applied  his  napkin  to  his  mous 
tache,  and  then  as  calmly  replied,  "  By  my  own,  Cap 
tain  Buxton." 

"  By !  sir,  you  exceeded  your  authority." 

"  Not  at  all,  captain ;  on  the  contrary,  you  exceeded 
yours." 

At  this  Buxton  flew  into  a  rage  that  seemed  to  de 
prive  him  of  all  control  over  his  language.  Oaths  and 
imprecations  poured  from  his  lips ;  he  raved  at  Billings, 
despite  the  efforts  of  the  officers  to  quiet  him,  despite 
the  adjutant's  threat  to  report  his  language  at  once  to 
the  commanding  officer. 

Mr.  Billings  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  his  accu- 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  225 

sations,  but  went  .on  eating  his  dinner  with  an  appear 
ance  of  serenity  that  only  added  fuel  to  his  captain's 
fire.  Two  or  three  officers  rose  and  left  the  table  in 
disgust,  and  just  how  far  the  thing  might  have  gone 
cannot  be  accurately  told,  for  in  less  than  three  minutes 
there  came  a  quick,  bounding  step  on  the  piazza,  the 
clank  and  rattle  of  a  sabre,  and  the  adjutant  fairly 
sprang  back  into  the  room : 

"  Captain  Buxton,  you  will  go  at  once  to  your 
quarters  in  close  arrest,  by  order  of  Major  Stannard." 

Buxton  knew  his  colonel  and  that  little  fire-eater 
of  an  adjutant  too  well  to  hesitate  an  instant.  Mutter 
ing  imprecations  on  everybody,  he  went. 

The  next  morning,  O'Grady  was  released  and  re 
turned  to  duty.  Two  days  later,  after  a  long  and 
private  interview  with  his  commanding  officer,  Cap 
tain  Buxton  appeared  with  him  at  the  officers'  mess  at 
dinner-time,  made  a  formal  and  complete  apology  to 
Lieutenant  Billings  for  his  offensive  language,  and  to 
the  mess  generally  for  his  misconduct ;  and  so  the  affair 
blew  over ;  and,  soon  after,  Buxtou  left,  and  Mr.  Bil 
lings  became  commander  of  Troop  "A." 

And  now,  whatever  might  have  been  his  reputation 
as  to  sobriety  before,  Private  O'Grady  became  a  marked 
man  for  every  soldierly  virtue.  Week  after  week  he 
was  to  be  seen  every  fourth  or  fifth  day,  when  his 
guard  tour  came,  reporting  to  the  commanding  officer 
for  duty  as  "  orderly,"  the  nattiest,  trimmest  soldier  on 
the  detail. 

"  I  always  said,"  remarked  Captain  Wayne,  "  that 
Buxton  alone  was  responsible  for  that  man's  downfall ; 
and  this  proves  it.  O'Grady  has  all  the  instincts  of  a 
P 


226  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

geDtleman  about  him,  and  now  that  he  has  a  gentleman 
over  him  he  is  himself  again." 

One  night,  after  retreat-parade,  there  was  cheering 
and  jubilee  in  the  quarters  of  Troop  "  A."  Cor 
poral  Quinn  had  been  discharged  by  expiration  of 
term  of  service,  and  Private  O'Grady  was  decorated 
with  his  chevrons.  When  October  came,  the  company 
muster-roll  showed  that  he  had  won  back  his  old 
grade;  and  the  garrison  knew  no  better  soldier,  no 
more  intelligent,  temperate,  trustworthy  non-commis 
sioned  officer,  than  Sergeant  O'Grady.  In  some  way 
or  other  the  story  of  the  treatment  resorted  to  by  his 
amateur  medical  officer  had  leaked  out.  Whether 
faulty  in  theory  or  not,  it  was  crowned  with  the  ver 
dict  of  success  in  practice;  and,  with  the  strong  sense 
of  humor  which  pervades  all  organizations  wherein  the 
Celt  is  represented  as  a  component  part,  Mr.  Billings 
had  been  lovingly  dubbed  *'  Doctor"  by  his  men,  and 
there  was  one  of  their  number  who  would  have  gone 
through  fire  and  water  for  him. 

One  night  some  herdsmen  from  up  the  valley  gal 
loped  wildly  into  the  post.  The  Apaches  had  swooped 
down,  run  off  their  cattle,  killed  one  of  the  cowboys, 
and  scared  off  the  rest.  At  daybreak  the  n'ext  morn 
ing  Lieutenant  Billings,  with  Troop  "A"  and  about 
a  dozen  Indian  scouts,  was  on  the  trail,  with  orders  to 
pursue,  recapture  the  cattle,  and  punish  the  marauders. 

To  his  disgust,  Mr.  Billings  found  that  his  allies 
were  not  of  the  tribes  who  had  served  with  him  in 
previous  expeditions.  All  the  trusty  Apache  Mojaves 
and  Hualpais  were  off  with  other  commands  in  distant 
parts  of  the  Territory.  He  had  to  take  just  what  the 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  227 

agent  could  give  him  at  the  reservation, — some  Apache 
Yumas,  who  were  total  strangers  to  him.  Within  forty- 
eight  hours  four  had  deserted  and  gone  back ;  the 
others  proved  worthless  as  trailers,  doubtless  inten 
tionally,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  keen  eye  of  Ser 
geant  O'Grady  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  keep 
up  the  pursuit  by  night ;  but  keep  it  up  they  did,  and 
just  at  sunset,  one  sharp  autumn  evening,  away  up  in 
the  mountains,  the  advance  caught  sight  of  the  cattle 
grazing  along  the  shores  of  a  placid  little  lake,  and,  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it,  Mr.  Billings  and  his 
command  tore  down  upon  the  quarry,  and,  leaving  a 
few  men  to  "  round  up"  the  herd,  were  soon  engaged  in 
a  lively  running  fight  with  the  fleeing  Apaches  which 
lasted  until  dark,  when  the  trumpet  sounded  the  recall, 
and,  with  horses  somewhat  blown,  but  no  casualties 
of  importance,  the  command  reassembled  and  marched 
back  to  the  grazing-ground  by  the  lake.  Here  a  hearty 
supper  was  served  out,  the  horses  were  rested,  then 
given  a  good  "  feed"  of  barley,  and  at  ten  o'clock  Mr. 
Billings  with  his  second  lieutenant  and  some  twenty 
men  pushed  ahead  in  the  direction  taken  by  the  In 
dians,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  men  under  experienced 
non-commissioned  officers  to  drive  the  cattle  back  to 
the  valley. 

That  night  the  conduct  of  the  Apache  Yuma  scouts 
was  incomprehensible.  Nothing  would  induce  them 
to  go  ahead  or  out  on  the  flanks ;  they  cowered  about 
the  rear  of  column,  yet  declared  that  the  enemy  could 
not  be  hereabouts.  At  two  in  the  morning  Mr.  Billings 
found  himself  well  through  a  pass  in  the  mountains, 
high  peaks  rising  to  his  right  and  left,  and  a  broad 


228  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

valley  in  front.  Here  he  gave  the  order  to  unsaddle 
and  camp  for  the  night. 

At  daybreak  all  were  again  on  the  alert :  the  search 
for  the  trail  was  resumed.  Again  the  Indians  refused 
to  go  out  without  the  troops ;  but  the  men  themselves 
found  the  tracks  of  Tonto  moccasins  along  the  bed  of 
a  little  stream  purling  through  the  cafion,  and  presently 
indications  that  they  had  made  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain  to  the  south.  Leaving  a  guard  with  his 
horses  and  pack-mules,  the  lieutenant  ordered  up  his 
men,  and  soon  the  little  command  was  silently  picking 
its  way  through  rock  and  boulder,  scrub-oak  and  tangled 
juniper  and  pine.  Rougher  and  steeper  grew  the  as 
cent;  more  and  more  the  Indians  cowered,  huddling 
together  in  rear  of  the  soldiers.  Twice  Mr.  Billings 
signalled  a  halt,  and,  with  his  sergeants,  fairly  drove 
the  scouts  up  to  the  front  and  ordered  them  to  hunt 
for  signs.  In  vain  they  protested,  "No  sign, — no 
Tonto  here ;"  their  very  looks  belied  them,  and  the 
young  commander  ordered  the  search  to  be  continued. 
In  their  eagerness  the  men  soon  leaped  ahead  of  the 
wretched  allies,  and  the  latter  fell  back  in  the  same 
huddled  group  as  before. 

After  half  an  hour  of  this  sort  of  work,  the  party 
came  suddenly  upon  a  point  whence  it  was  possible  to 
see  much  of  the  face  of  the  mountain  they  were  scaling. 
Cautioning  his  men  to  keep  within  the  concealment 
afforded  by  the  thick  timber,  Mr.  Billings  and  his  com 
rade-lieutenant  crept  forward  and  made  a  brief  recon- 
noissance.  It  was  evident  at  a  glance  that  the  farther 
they  went  the  steeper  grew  the  ascent  and  the  more 
tangled  the  low  shrubbery,  for  it  was  little  better,  until. 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN   THE   TROOP.  229 

near  the  summit,  trees  and  underbrush,  and  herbage 
of  every  description,  seemed  to  cease  entirely,  and  a 
vertical  cliff  of  jagged  rocks  stook  sentinel  at  the  crest, 
and  stretched  east  and  west  the  entire  length  of  the 
face  of  the  mountain. 

"By  Jove,  Billings!  if  they  are  on  top  of  that  it 
will  be  a  nasty  place  to  rout  them  out  of,"  observed 
the  junior. 

"  I'm  going  to  find  out  where  they  are,  anyhow," 
replied  the  other.  "  Now  those  infernal  Yumas  have 
got  to  scout,  whether  they  want  to  or  not.  You  stay 
here  with  the  men,  ready  to  come  the  instant  I  send 
or  signal." 

In  vain  the  junior  officer  protested  against  being  left 
behind;  he  was  directed  to  send  a  small  party  to  see 
if  there  were  an  easier  way  up  the  hill-side  farther  to 
the  west,  but  to  keep  the  main  body  there  in  readiness 
to  move  whichever  way  they  might  be  required.  Then, 
with  Sergeant  O'Grady  and  the  reluctant  Indians,  Mr. 
Billings  pushed  up  to  the  left  front,  and  was  soon  out 
of  sight  of  his  command.  For  fifteen  minutes  he  drove 
his  scouts,  dispersed  in  skirmish  order,  ahead  of  him, 
but  incessantly  they  sneaked  behind  rocks  and  trees 
out  of  his  sight ;  twice  he  caught  them  trying  to  drop 
back,  and  at  last,  losing  all  patience,  he  sprang  forward, 
saying,  "  Then  come  on,  you  whelps,  if  you  cannot 
lead,"  and  he  and  the  sergeant  hurried  ahead.  Then 
the  Yumas  huddled  together  again  and  slowly  fol 
lowed. 

Fifteen  minutes  more,  and  Mr.  Billings  found  him 
self  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  broad  shelf  of  the 
mountain, — a  shelf  covered  with  huge  boulders  of  rock 

20 


230  THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP. 

tumbled  there  by  storm  and  tempest,  riven  by  light 
ning-stroke  or  the  slow  disintegration  of  nature  from 
the  bare,  glaring,  precipitous  ledge  he  had  marked  from 
below.  East  and  west  it  seemed  to  stretch,  forbidding 
and  inaccessible.  Turning  to  the  sergeant,  Mr.  Billings 
directed  him  to  make  his  way  off  to  the  right  and  see 
if  there  were  any  possibility  of  finding  a  path  to  the 
summit;  then  looking  back  down  the  side,  and  mark 
ing  his  Indians  cowering  under  the  trees  some  fifty 
yards  away,  he  signalled  "  come  up/'  and  was  about 
moving  farther  to  his  left  to  explore  the  shelf,  when 
something  went  whizzing  past  his  head,  and,  embedding 
itself  in  a  stunted  oak  behind  him,  shook  and  quivered 
with  the  shock, — a  Ton  to  arrow.  Only  an  instant  did 
he  see  it,  photographed  as  by  electricity  upon  the  retina, 
when  with  a  sharp  stinging  pang  and  whirring  "  whist" 
and  thud  a  second  arrow,  better  aimed,  tore  through 
the  flesh  and  muscles  just  at  the  outer  corner  of  his 
left  eye,  and  glanced  away  down  the  hill.  With  one 
spring  he  gained  the  edge  of  the  shelf,  and  shouted  to 
the  scouts  to  come  on.  Even  as  he  did  so,  bang  !  bang ! 
went  the  reports  of  two  rifles  among  the  rocks,  and,  as 
with  one  accord,  the  Apache  Yumas  turned  tail  and 
rushed  back  down  the  hill,  leaving  him  alone  in  the 
midst  of  hidden  foes.  Stung  by  the  arrow,  bleeding, 
but  not  seriously  hurt,  he  crouched  behind  a  rock,  with 
carbine  at  ready,  eagerly  looking  for  the  first  sign  of 
an  enemy.  The  whiz  of  another  arrow  from  the  left 
drew  his  eyes  thither,  and  quick  as  a  flash  his  weapon 
leaped  to  his  shoulder,  the  rocks  rang  with  its  report, 
and  one  of  the  two  swarthy  forms  he  saw  among  the 
boulders  tumbled  over  out  of  sight ;  but  even  as  he 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN  THE   TROOP.  231 

threw  back  his  piece  to  reload,  a  rattling  volley  greeted 
him,  the  carbine  dropped  to  the  ground,  a  strange, 
numbed  sensation  had  sc:ized  his  shoulder,  and  his  right 
arm,  shattered  by  a  rifle-bullet,  hung  dangling  by  the 
flesh,  while  the  blood  gushed  forth  in  a  torrent. 

Defenceless,  he  sprang  back  to  the  edge ;  there  was 
nothing  for  it  now  but  to  run  until  he  could  meet  his 
men.  Well  he  knew  they  would  be  tearing  up  the 
mountain  to  the  rescue.  Could  he  hold  out  till  then  ? 
Behind  him  with  shout  and  yells  "ime  the  Apaches, 
arrow  and  bullet  whistling  over  his  head ;  before  him 
lay  the  steep  descent, — jagged  rocks,  thick,  tangled 
bushes :  it  was  a  desperate  chance ;  but  he  tried  it, 
leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  holding  his  helpless  arm  in 
his  left  hand  ;  then  his  foot  slipped  :  he  plunged  heavily 
forward  ;  quickly  the  nerves  threw  out  their  signal  for 
support  to  the  muscles  of  the  shattered  member,  but  its 
work  was  done,  its  usefulness  destroyed.  Missing  its 
support,  he  plunged  heavily  forward,  and  went  crash 
ing  down  among  the  rocks  eight  or  ten  feet  below, 
cutting  a  jagged  gash  in  his  forehead,  while  the  blood 
rained  down  into  his  eyes  and  blinded  him  ;  but  he 
struggled  up  and  on  a  few  yards  more ;  then  another 
fall,  and,  well-nigh  senseless,  utterly  exhausted,  he  lay 
groping  for  his  revolver, — it  had  fallen  from  its  case. 
Then — all  was  over. 

Not  yet ;  not  yet.  His  ear  catches  the  sound  of  a 
voice  he  knows  well, — a  rich,  ringing,  Hibernian  voice 
it  is :  "  Lieutenant,  lieutenant !  Where  are  ye  ?"  and 
he  has  strength  enough  to  call,  "  This  way,  sergeant, 
this  way,"  and  in  another  moment  O'Grady,  with 
blended  anguish  and  gratitude  in  his  face,  is  bending 


232  THE  WORST  MAN  IN   THE   TROOP. 

over  him.  "  Oh,  thank  God  you're  not  kilt,  sir  !"  (for 
when  excited  O'Grady  would  relapse  into  the  brogue) ; 
"but  are  ye  much  hurt?" 

"  Badly,  sergeant,  since  I  can't  fight  another  round." 

"  Then  put  your  arm  round  my  neck,  sir,"  and  in  a 
second  the  little  Patlander  has  him  on  his  brawny  back. 
But  with  only  one  arm  by  which  to  steady  himself, 
the  other  hanging  loose,  the  torture  is  inexpressible, 
for  O'Grady  is  now  bounding  down  the  hill,  leaping 
like  a  goat  from  rock  to  rock,  while  the  Apaches  with 
savage  yells  corne  tearing  after  them.  Twice,  pausing, 
O'Grady  lays  his  lieutenant  down  in  the  shelter  of 
some  large  boulder,  and,  facing  about,  sends  shot  after 
shot  up  the  hill,  checking  the  pursuit  and  driving  the 
cowardly  footpads  to  cover.  Once  he  gives  vent  to  a 
genuine  Kilkenny  "  hurroo"  as  a  tall  Apache  drops 
his  rifle  and  plunges  headforemost  among  the  rocks  with 
his  hands  convulsively  clasped  to  his  breast.  Then 
the  sergeant  once  more  picks  up  his  wounded  comrade, 
despite  pleas,  orders,  or  imprecations,  and  rushes  on. 

"  I  cannot  stand  it,  O'Grady.  Go  and  save  your 
self.  You  must  do  it.  I  order  you  to  do  it."  Every 
instant  the  shots  and  arrows  whiz  closer,  but  the  ser 
geant  never  winces,  and  at  last,  panting,  breathless, 
having  carried  his  chief  full  three  hundred  yards  down 
the  rugged  slope,  he  gives  out  entirely,  but  with  a  gasp 
of  delight  points  down  among  the  trees : 

"  Here  come  the  boys,  sir." 

Another  moment,  and  the  soldiers  are  rushing  up 
the  rocks  beside  them,  their  carbines  ringing  like  merry 
music  through  the  frosty  air,  and  the  Apaches  are 
scattering  in  every  direction. 


THE  WORST  MAN  IN   THE   TROOP.  233 

"  Old  man,  are  you  much  hurt  ?"  is  the  whispered 
inquiry  his  brother-officer  can  barely  gasp  for  want  of 
breath,  and,  reassured  by  the  faint  grin  on  Mr.  Billings's 
face,  and  a  barely  audible  "  Arm  busted, — that's  all ; 
pitch  in  and  use  them  up,"  he  pushes  on  with  his 
men. 

In  ten  minutes  the  affair  is  ended.  The  Indians 
have  been  swept  away  like  chaff;  the  field  and  the 
wounded  they  have  abandoned  are  in  the  hands  of 
the  troopers ;  the  young  commander's  life  is  saved  ; 
and  then,  and  for  long  after,  the  hero  of  the  day  is 
Ruxton's  b&e  noirCj  "  the  worst  man  in  the  troop." 


VAN. 


HE  was  the  evolution  of  a  military  horse-trade,-— 
one  of  those  periodical  swappings  required  of  his 
dragoons  by  Uncle  Sara  o^  fcnose  rare  occasions  when 
a  regiment  that  has  been  dry-rotting  half  a  decade  in 
Arizona  is  at  last  relieved  by  one  from  the  Plains. 
How  it  happened  that  we  of  the  Fifth  should  have 
kept  him  from  the  clutches  of  those  sharp  horse-fanciers 
of  the  Sixth  is  more  than  I  know.  Regimental  tradition 
had  it  that  we  got  him  from  the  Third  Cavalry  when 
it  came  our  turn  to  go  into  exile  in  1871.  He  was  the 
victim  of  some  temporary  malady  at  the  time, — one 
of  those  multitudinous  ills  to  which  horse-flesh  is  heir, 
— or  he  never  would  have  come  to  us.  It  was  simply 
impossible  that  anybody  who  knew  anything  about 
horses  should  trade  off  such  a  promising  young  racer 
so  long  as  there  remained  an  unpledged  pay-account 
in  the  officers'  mess.  Possibly  the  arid  climate  of 
Arizona  had  disagreed  with  him  and  he  had  gone 
amiss,  as  would  the  mechanism  of  some  of  the  best 
watches  in  the  regiment,  unable  to  stand  the  strain  of 
anything  so  hot  and  high  and  dry.  Possibly  the 
Third  was  so  overjoyed  at  getting  out  of  Arizona  on 
any  terms  that  they  would  gladly  have  left  their  eye- 
teeth  in  pawn.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  cause, 
the  transfer  was  an  accomplished  fact,  and  Van  was 
234 


VAN.  235 

one  of  some  seven  hundred  quadrupeds,  of  greater  or 
less  value,  which  became  the  property  of  the  Fifth 
Regiment  of  Cavalry,  U.S.A.,  in  lawful  exchange  for 
a  like  number  of  chargers  left  in  the  stables  along  the 
recently-built  Union  Pacific  to  await  the  coming  of 
their  new  riders  from  the  distant  West. 

We  had  never  met  in  those  days,  Van  and  I.  "  Com- 
padres"  and  chums  as  we  were  destined  to  become,  we 
were  utterly  unknown  and  indifferent  to  each  other ; 
but  in  point  of  regimental  reputation  at  the  time,  Van 
had  decidedly  the  best  of  it.  He  was  a  celebrity  at 
head-quarters,  I  a  subaltern  at  an  isolated  post.  He 
had  apparently  become  acclimate^,  and  was  rapidly  win 
ning  respect  for  himself  and  dollars  for  his  backers ; 
I  was  winning  neither  for  anybody,  and  doubtless 
losing  both, — they  go  together,  somehow.  Van  was 
living  on  metaphorical  clover  down  near  Tucson ;  I  was 
roughing  it  out  on  the  rocks  of  the  Mogollon.  Each 
after  his  own  fashion  served  out  his  time  in  the  grim 
old  Territory,  and  at  last  "  came  marching  home  again ;" 
and  early  in  the  summer  of  the  Centennial  year,  and 
just  in  the  midst  of  the  great  Sioux  war  of  1876,  Van 
and  I  made  each  other's  acquaintance. 

What  I  liked  about  him  was  the  air  of  thoroughbred 
ease  with  which  he  adapted  himself  to  his  surround 
ings.  He  was  in  swell  society  on  the  occasion  of  our 
first  meeting,  being  bestridden  by  the  colonel  of  the 
regiment.  He  was  dressed  and  caparisoned  in  the 
height  of  martial  fashion ;  his  clear  eyes,  glistening 
coat,  and  joyous  bearing  spoke  of  the  perfection  of 
health ;  his  every  glance  and  movement  told  of  elastic 
vigor  and  dauntless  spirit.  He  was  a  horse  with  a 


236  VAN. 

pedigree, — let  alone  any  self-made  reputation, — and  he 
knew  it ;  more  than  that,  he  knew  that  I  was  charmed 
at  the  first  greeting ;  probably  he  liked  it,  possibly  he 
liked  me.  What  he  saw  in  me  I  never  discovered. 
Van,  though  demonstrative  eventually,  was  reticent  and 
little  given  to  verbal  flattery.  It  was  long  indeed  be 
fore  any  degree  of  intimacy  was  established  between 
us  :  perhaps  it  might  never  have  come  but  for  the 
strange  and  eventful  campaign  on  which  we  were  so 
speedily  launched.  Probably  we  might  have  continued 
on  our  original  status  of  dignified  and  distant  acquaint 
ance.  As  a  member  of  the  colonel's  household  he 
could  have  nothing  in  common  with  me  or  mine,  and 
his  acknowledgment  of  the  introduction  of  my  own 
charger — the  cavalryman's  better  half — was  of  that 
airy  yet  perfunctory  politeness  which  is  of  the  club 
clubby.  Forager,  my  gray,  had  sought  acquaintance 
in  his  impulsive  frontier  fashion  when  summoned  to 
the  presence  of  the  regimental  commander,  and,  rang 
ing  alongside  to  permit  the  shake  of  the  hand  with 
which  the  colonel  had  honored  his  rider,  he  himself 
had  with  equine  confidence  addressed  Van,  and  Van 
had  simply  continued  his  dreamy  stare  over  the  springy 
prairie  and  taken  no  earthly  notice  of  him.  Forager 
and  I  had  just  joined  regimental  head-quarters  for  the 
first  time,  as  was  evident,  and  we  were  ,both  "fresh." 
It  was  not  until  the  colonel  good-naturedly  stroked  the 
glossy  brown  neck  of  his  pet  and  said,  "  Van,  old  boy, 
this  is  Forager,  of '  K7  Troop,"  that  Van  considered  it 
the  proper  thing  to  admit  my  fellow  to  the  outer  edge 
of  his  circle  of  acquaintance.  My  gray  thought  him 
a  supercilious  snob,  no  doubt,  and  hated  him.  Ho 


VAN.  237 

hated  him  more  before  the  day  was  half  over,  for  the 
colonel  decided  to  gallop  down  the  valley  to  look  at 
some  new  horses  that  had  just  come,  and  invited  me  to 
go.  Colonels'  invitations  are  commands,  and  we  went, 
Forager  and  I,  though  it  was  weariness  and  vexation 
of  spirit  to  both.  Van  and  his  rider  flew  easily  along, 
bounding  over  the  springy  turf  with  long,  elastic  stride, 
horse  and  rider  taking  the  rapid  motion  as  an  every 
day  matter,  in  a  cool,  imperturbable,  this-is-the-way- 
we-al ways-do-it  style  ;  while  my  poor  old  troop-horse, 
in  answer  to  pressing  knee  and  pricking  spur,  strove 
with  panting  breath  and  jealously  bursting  heart  to 
keep  alongside.  The  foam  flew  from  his  fevered  jaws 
and  flecked  the  smooth  flank  of  his  apparently  uncon 
scious  rival ;  and  when  at  last  we  returned  to  camp, 
while  Van,  without  a  turned  hair  or  an  abnormal  heave, 
coolly  nodded  off  to  his  stable,  poor  Forager,  blown, 
sweating,  and  utterly  used  up,  gazed  revengefully  after 
him  an  instant  and  then  reproachfully  at  me.  He  had 
done  his  best,  and  all  to  no  purpose.  That  confounded 
clean-cut,  supercilious  beast  had  worn  him  out  and 
never  tried  a  spurt. 

It  was  then  that  I  began  to  make  inquiries  about 
that  airy  fellow  Van,  and  I  soon  found  he  had  a 
history.  Like  other  histories,  it  may  have  been  a  mere 
codification  of  lies;  but  the  men  of  the  Fifth  were 
ready  to  answer  for  its  authenticity,  and  Van  fully 
looked  the  character  they  gave  him.  He  was  now  in 
his  prime.  He  had  passed  the  age  of  tell-tale  teeth 
and  was  going  on  between  eight  and  nine,  said  the 
knowing  ones,  but  he  looked  younger  and  felt  younger. 
He  was  at  heart  as  full  of  fun  and  frolic  as  any  colt, 


238  VAN. 

but  the  responsibilities  of  his  position  weighed  upon 
him  at  times  and  lent  to  his  elastic  step  the  grave 
dignity  that  should  mark  the  movements  of  the  first 
horse  of  the  regiment. 

And  then  Van  was  a  born  aristocrat.  He  was  not 
impressive  in  point  of  size ;  he  was  rather  small,  in 
fact ;  but  there  was  that  in  his  bearing  and  demeanor 
that  attracted  instant  attention.  He  was  beautifully 
built, — lithe,  sinewy,  muscular,  with  powerful  shoulders 
and  solid  haunches ;  his  legs  were  what  Oscar  Wilde 
might  have  called  poems,  and  with  better  reason  than 
when  he  applied  the  epithet  to  those  of  Henry  Irving : 
they  were  straight,  slender,  and  destitute  of  those  heter 
odox  developments  at  the  joints  that  render  equine  legs 
as  hideous  deformities  as  knee-sprung  trousers  of  the 
present  mode.  His  feet  and  pasterns  were  shapely  and 
dainty  as  those  of  the  senoritas  (only  for  pastern  read 
ankle)  who  so  admired  him  on  festa  days  at  Tucson, 
and  who  won  such  stores  of  dulces  from  the  scowling 
gallants  who  had  with  genuine  Mexican  pluck  backed 
the  Sonora  horses  at  the  races.  His  color  was  a  deep, 
dark  chocolate-brown ;  a  most  unusual  tint,  but  Van 
was  proud  of  its  oddity,  and  his  long,  lean  head,  his 
pretty  little  pointed  ears,  his  bright,  flashing  eye  and 
sensitive  nostril,  one  and  all  spoke  of  spirit  and  intelli 
gence.  A  glance  at  that  horse  would  tell  the  veriest 
greenhorn  that  speed,  bottom,  and  pluck  were  all  to  be 
found  right  there ;  and  he  had  not  been  in  the  regi 
ment  a  month  before  the  knowing  ones  were  hanging 
about  the  Mexican  sports  and  looking  out  for  a  chance 
for  a  match ;  and  Mexicans,  like  Indians,  are  consum 
mate  horse-racers. 


VAN.  239 

Not  with  the  "  greasers"  alone  had  tact  and  diplo 
macy  to  be  brought  into  play.  Van,  though  invoiced 
as  a  troop-horse  sick,  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
colonel  from  the  very  start,  and  the  colonel  had  speedily 
caused  him  to  be  transferred  to  his  own  stable,  where, 
carefully  tended,  fed,  groomed,  and  regularly  exercised, 
he  speedily  gave  evidence  of  the  good  there  was  in 
him.  The  colonel  rarely  rode  in  those  days,  and 
cavalry-duties  in  garrison  were  few.  The  regiment 
was  in  the  mountains  most  of  the  time,  hunting 
Apaches,  but  Van  had  to  be  exercised  every  day ;  and 
exercised  he  was.  "  Jeff,"  the  colonel's  orderly,  would 
lead  him  sedately  forth  from  his  paddock  every  morning 
about  nine,  and  ride  demurely  off  towards  the  quarter 
master's  stables  in  rear  of  the  garrison.  Keen  eyes 
used  to  note  that  Van  had  a  way  of  sidling  along  at 
such  times  as  though  his  heels  were  too  impatient  to 
keep  at  their  appropriate  distance  behind  the  head,  and 
"  Jeff's"  hand  on  the  bit  was  very  firm,  light  as  it 
was. 

"  Bet  you  what  you  like  those  '  L'  Company  fellows 
are  getting  Van  in  training  for  a  race,"  said  the  quarter 
master  to  the  adjutant  one  bright  morning,  and  the 
chuckle  with  which  the  latter  received  the  remark  was 
an  indication  that  the  news  was  no  news  to  him. 

"  If  old  Coach  don't  find  it  out  too  soon,  some  of 
these  swaggering  caballeros  around  here  are  going  to 
lose  their  last  winnings,"  was  his  answer.  And,  true 
to  their  cavalry  instincts,  neither  of  the  staff-officers 
saw  fit  to  follow  Van  and  his  rider  beyond  the  gate  to 
the  corrals. 

Once  there,  however,  Jeff  would  bound  off  quick  as 


240  VAN. 

a  cat,  Van  would  be  speedily  taken  in  charge  by  a 
squad  of  old  dragoon  sergeants,  his  cavalry  bridle  and 
saddle  exchanged  for  a  light  racing-rig,  and  Master 
Mickey  Lanigan,  son  and  heir  of  the  regimental  saddle- 
sergeant,  would  be  hoisted  into  his  throne,  and  then 
Van  would  be  led  off,  all  plunging  impatience  now,  to 
an  improvised  race-track  across  the  arroyo,  where  he 
would  run  against  his  previous  record,  and  where  old 
horses  from  the  troop-stables  would  be  spurred  into 
occasional  spurts  with  the  champion,  while  all  the  time 
vigilant  "  non-coms"  would  be  thrown  out  as  pickets  far 
and  near,  to  warn  off  prying  Mexican  eyes  and  give 
notice  of  the  coming  of  officers.  The  colonel  was  al 
ways  busy  in  his  office  at  that  hour,  and  interruptions 
never  came.  But  the  race  did,  and  more  than  one 
race,  too,  occurring  on  Sundays,  as  Mexican  races  will, 
and  well-nigh  wrecking  the  hopes  of  the  garrison  on 
one  occasion  because  of  the  colonel's  sudden  freak  of 
holding  a  long  mounted  inspection  on  that  day.  Had 
he  ridden  Van  for  two  hours  under  his  heavy  weight 
and  housings  that  morning,  all  would  have  been  lost. 
There  was  terror  at  Tucson  when  the  cavalry  trumpets 
blew  the  call  for  mounted  inspection,  full  dress,  that 
placid  Sunday  morning,  and  the  sporting  sergeants 
were  well-nigh  crazed.  Not  an  instant  was  to  be  lost. 
Jeff  rushed  to  the  stable,  and  in  five  minutes  had  Van's 
near  fore  foot  enveloped  in  a  huge  poultice,  much  to 
Van's  amaze  and  disgust,  and  when  the  colonel  came 
down, 

Booted  and  spurred  and  prepared  for  a  ride, 

there  stood  Jeff  in  martial  solemnity,  holding  the  colo- 


VAN.  241 

nel's  other  horse,  and  looking,  as  did  the  horse,  the 
picture  of  dejection. 

"What'd  you  bring  me  that  infernal  old  hearse- 
horse  for?"  said  the  colonel.  "  Where's  Van?" 

"  In  the  stable,  dead  lame,  general,"  said  Jeff,  with 
face  of  woe,  but  with  diplomatic  use  of  the  brevet. 
"  Can't  put  his  nigh  fore  foot  to  the  ground,  sir.  I've 
got  it  poulticed,  sir,  and  he'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or 
two " 

<*  Sure  it  ain't  a  nail  ?"  broke  in  the  colonel,  to  whom 
nails  in  the  foot  were  sources  of  perennial  dread. 

"  Perfectly  sure,  genera  1 ,"  gasped  Jeff.  "  D — d  sure !" 
he  added,  in  a  tone  of  infinite  relief,  as  the  colonel  rode 
out  on  the  broad  parade.  "  'T would  V  been  nails  in 
the  coffins  of  half  the  Fifth  Cavalry  if  it  had  been." 

But  that  afternoon,  while  the  colonel  was  taking  his 
siesta,  half  the  populace  of  the  good  old  Spanish  town 
of  Tucson  was  making  the  air  blue  with  carambas 
when  Van  came  galloping  tinder  the  string  an  easy 
winner  over  half  a  score  of  Mexican  steeds.  The 
"  dark  horse"  became  a  notoriety,  and  for  once  in  its 
history  head-quarters  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  felt  the  forth 
coming  visit  of  the  paymaster  to  be  an  object  of  indif 
ference. 

Van  won  other  races  in  Arizona.  No  more  betting 
could  be  got  against  him  around  Tucson ;  but  the  colo 
nel  went  off  on  leave,  and  he  was  borrowed  down  at 
Camp  Bowie  awhile,  and  then  transferred  to  Crittenden, 
—only  temporarily,  of  course,  for  no  one  at  head-quar 
ters  would  part  with  him  for  good.  Then,  when  the 
regiment  made  its  homeward  march  across  the  continent 
in  1875,  Van  somehow  turned  up  at  the  festa  races  at 

L          q  21 


242  VAN. 

Albuquerque  and  Santa  F6,  though  the  latter  was  off 
the  line  of  march  by  many  miles.  Then  he  distin 
guished  himself  at  Pueblo  by  winning  a  handicap 
sweepstakes  where  the  odds  were  heavy  against  him. 
And  so  it  was  that  when  I  met  Van  at  Fort  Hays  in 
May,  1876,  he  was  a  celebrity.  Even  then  they  were 
talking  of  getting  him  down  to  Dodge  City  to  run 
against  some  horses  on  the  Arkansaw ;  but  other  and 
graver  matters  turned  up.  Van  had  run  his  last  race. 
Early  that  spring,  or  rather  late  in  the  winter,  a 
powerful  expedition  had  been  sent  to  the  north  of 
Fort  Fetterman  in  search  of  the  hostile  bands  led  by 
that  dare-devil  Sioux  chieftain  Crazy  Horse.  On 
"  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning,"  with  the  thermome 
ter  indicating  30°  below,  and  in  the  face  of  a  biting 
wind  from  the  north  and  a  blazing  glare  from  the  sheen 
of  the  untrodden  snow,  the  cavalry  came  in  sight  of  the 
Indian  encampment  down  in  the  valley  of  Powder 
River.  The  fight  came  off  then  and  there,  and,  all 
things  considered,  Crazy  Horse  got  the  best  of  it.  He 
and  his  people  drew  away  farther  north  to  join  other 
roving  bands.  The  troops  fell  back  to  Fetterman  to  get 
a  fresh  start ;  and  when  spring  fairly  opened,  old  "  Gray 
Fox,"  as  the  Indians  called  General  Crook,  marched  a 
strong  command  up  to  the  Big  Horn  Mountains,  deter 
mined  to  have  it  out  with  Crazy  Horse  and  settle  the  ques 
tion  of  supremacy  before  the  end  of  the  season.  Then  all 
the  unoccupied  Indians  in  the  North  decided  to  take  a 
hand.  All  or  most  of  them  were  bound  by  treaty 
obligations  to  keep  the  peace  with  the  government  that 
for  years  past  had  fed,  clothed,  and  protected  them. 
Nine- tenths  of  those  who  rushed  to  the  rescue  of  Crazy 


VAN.  243 

Horse  and  his  people  had  not  the  faintest  excuse  for 
their  breach  of  faith ;  but  it  requires  neither  eloquence 
nor  excuse  to  persuade  the  average  Indian  to  take  the 
war-path.  The  reservations  were  beset  by  vehement 
old  strifemongers  preaching  a  crusade  against  the  whites, 
and  by  early  June  there  must  have  been  five  thousand 
eager  young  warriors,  under  such  leaders  as  Crazy  Horse, 
Gall,  Little  Big  Man,  and  all  manner  of  Wolves,  Bears, 
and  Bulls,  and  prominent  among  the  latter  that  head- 
devil,  scheming,  lying,  wire-pulling,  big-talker- but- 
no-fighter,  Sitting  Bull, — "  Tatanka-e-Yotanka," — five 
thousand  fierce  and  eager  Indians,  young  and  old, 
swarming  through  the  glorious  upland  between  the  Big 
Horn  and  the  Yellowstone,  and  more  a-coming. 

Crook  had  reached  the  head-waters  of  Tongue  River 
with  perhaps  twelve  hundred  cavalry  and  infantry,  and 
found  that  something  must  be  done  to  shut  off  the  rush 
of  reinforcements  from  the  southeast.  Then  it  was  that 
we  of  the  Fifth,  far  away  in  Kansas,  were  hurried  by 
rail  through  Denver  to  Cheyenne,  marched  thence  to  the 
Black  Hills  to  cut  the  trails  from  the  great  reservations 
of  Red  Cloud  and  Spotted  Tail  to  the  disputed  ground 
of  the  Northwest ;  and  here  we  had  our  own  little  per 
sonal  tussle  with  the  Cheyennes,  and  induced  them  to 
postpone  their  further  progress  towards  Sitting  Bull 
and  to  lead  us  back  to  the  reservation.  It  was  here, 
too,  we  heard  how  Crazy  Horse  had  pounced  on  Crook's 
columns  on  the  bluffs  of  the  Rosebud  that  sultry  morn 
ing  of  the  17th  of  June  and  showed  the  Gray  Fox  that 
he  and  his  people  were  too  weak  in  numbers  to  cope 
with  them.  It  was  here,  too,  worse  luck,  we  got  the 
tidings  of  the  dread  disaster  of  the  Sunday  one  week 


244 

later,  and  listened  in  awed  silence  to  the  story  of  Ouster's 
mad  attack  on  ten  times  his  weight  in  foes — and  the 
natural  result.  Then  came  our  orders  to  hasten  to  the 
support  of  Crook,  and  so  it  happened  that  July  found 
us  marching  for  the  storied  range  of  the  Big  Horn,  and 
the  first  week  in  August  landed  us,  blistered  and  burned 
with  sun-glare  and  stifling  alkali-dust,  in  the  welcoming 
camp  of  Crook. 

Then  followed  the  memorable  campaign  of  1876. 
I  do  not  mean  to  tell  its  story  here.  We  set  out  with 
ten  days'  rations  on  a  chase  that  lasted  ten  weeks.  We 
roamed  some  eighteen  hundred  miles  over  range  and 
prairie,  over  "  bad  lands"  and  worse  waters.  We  wore 
out  some  Indians,  a  good  many  soldiers,  and  a  great 
many  horses.  We  sometimes  caught  the  Indians,  and 
sometimes  they  caught  us.  It  was  hot,  dry  summer 
weather  when  we  left  our  wagons,  tents,  and  extra 
clothing ;  it  was  sharp  and  freezing  before  we  saw  them 
again  ;  and  meantime,  without  a  rag  of  canvas  or  any 
covering  to  our  backs  except  what  summer-clothing  we 
had  when  we  started,  we  had  tramped  through  the  val 
leys  of  the  Rosebud,  Tongue,  and  Powder  Rivers,  had 
loosened  the  teeth  of  some  men  with  scurvy  before  we 
struck  the  Yellowstone,  had  weeded  out  the  wounded 
and  ineffective  there  and  sent  them  to  the  East  by  river, 
had  taken  a  fresh  start  and  gone  rapidly  on  in  pursuit 
of  the  scattering  bands,  had  forded  the  Little  Missouri 
near  where  the  Northern  Pacific  now  spans  the  stream, 
run  out  of  rations  entirely  at  the  head  of  Heart  River, 
and  still  stuck  to  the  trail  and  the  chase,  headed  south 
ward  over  rolling,  treeless  prairies,  and  for  eleven  daya 
and  nights  of  pelting,  pitiless  rain  dragged  our  way 


245 

through  the  bad-lands,  meeting  and  fighting  the  Sioux 
two  lively  days  among  the  rocks  of  Slim  Buttes,  sub 
sisting  meantime  partly  on  what  game  we  could  pick 
up,  but  mainly  upon  our  poor,  famished,  worn-out, 
staggering  horses.  It  is  hard  truth  for  cavalryman  to 
tell,  but  the  choice  lay  between  them  and  our  boots  • 
and  most  of  us  had  no  boots  left  by  the  time  we  sighted 
the  Black  Hills.  Once  there,  we  found  provisions  and 
plenty ;  but  never,  I  venture  to  say,  never  was  civilized 
army  in  such  a  plight  as  was  the  command  of  General 
George  Crook  when  his  brigade  of  regulars  halted  on 
the  north  bank  of  the  Belle  Fourche  in  September, 
1876.  Officers  and  men  were  ragged,  haggard,  half 
starved,  worn  down  to  mere  skin  and  bone ;  and  the 
horses, — ah,  well,  only  half  of  them  were  left :  hun 
dreds  had  dropped  starved  and  exhausted  on  the  line  of 
march,  and  dozens  had  been  killed  and  eaten.  We  had 
set  out  blithe  and  merry,  riding  jauntily  down  the  wild 
valley  of  the  Tongue.  We  straggled  in  towards  the 
Hills,  towing  our  tottering  horses  behind  us :  they  had 
long  since  grown  too  weak  to  carry  a  rider. 

Then  came  a  leisurely  saunter  through  the  Hills* 
Crook  bought  up  all  the  provisions  to  be  had  in  Dead- 
wood  and  other  little  mining  towns,  turned  over  the 
command  to  General  Merritt,  and  hastened  to  the  forts 
to  organize  a  new  force,  leaving  to  his  successor  instruc 
tions  to  come  in  slowly,  giving  horses  and  men  time  to 
build  up.  Men  began  "  building  up'7  fast  enough  ;  we 
did  nothing  but  eat,  sleep,  and  hunt  grass  for  our  horses 
for  whole  weeks  at  a  time ;  but  our  horses, — ah,  that 
was  different.  There  was  no  grain  to  be  had  for  them. 
They  had  been  starving  for  a  month,  for  the  Indians 

21* 


246  VAN. 

had  burned  the  grass  before  us  wherever  we  went,  and 
here  in  the  pine-covered  hills  what  grass  could  be  found 
was  scant  and  wiry, — not  the  rich,  juicy,  strength-giv 
ing  bunch  grass  of  the  open  country.  Of  my  two 
horses,  neither  was  in  condition  to  do  military  duty 
when  we  got  to  Whitewood.  I  was  adjutant  of  the 
regiment,  and  had  to  be  bustling  around  a  good  deal ; 
and  so  it  happened  that  one  day  the  colonel  said  to  me, 
u  Well,  here's  Van.  He  can't  carry  my  weight  any 
longer.  Suppose  you  take  him  and  see  if  he  won't  pick 
up."  And  that  beautiful  October  day  found  the  racer 
of  the  regiment,  though  the  ghost  of  his  former  self, 
transferred  to  my  keeping. 

All  through  the  campaign  we  had  been  getting  better 
acquainted,  Van  and  I.  The  colonel  seldom  rode  him, 
but  had  him  led  along  with  the  head-quarters  party  in 
the  endeavor  to  save  his  strength.  A  big,  raw-boned 
colt,  whom  he  had  named  "  Chunka  Witko,"  in  honor 
of  the  Sioux  "  Crazy  Horse,"  the  hero  of  the  summer, 
had  the  honor  of  transporting  the  colonel  over  most 
of  those  weary  miles,  and  Van  spent  the  long  days  on 
the  muddy  trail  in  wondering  when  and  where  the  next 
race  was  to  come  off,  and  whether  at  this  rate  he  would 
be  fit  for  a  finish.  One  day  on  the  Yellowstone  I  had 
come  suddenly  upon  a  quartermaster  who  had  a  peck 
of  oats  on  his  boat.  Oats  were  worth  their  weight  in 
greenbacks,  but  so  was  plug  tobacco.  He  gave  me 
half  a  peck  for  all  the  tobacco  in  my  saddle-bags, 
and,  filling  my  old  campaign  hat  with  the  precious 
grain,  I  sat  me  down  on  a  big  log  by  the  flowing 
Yellowstone  and  told  poor  old  "  Donnybrook"  to  pitch 
in.  "  Donnybrook"  was  a  "  spare  horse"  when  we  started 


VAN.  247 

on  the  campaign,  and  had  been  handed  over  to  me 
after  the  fight  on  the  War  Bonnet,  where  Merritt  turned 
their  own  tactics  on  the  Cheyennes.  He  was  sparer 
still  by  this  time ;  and  later,  when  we  got  to  the  muddy 
banks  of  the  "  Heecha  Wapka,"  there  was  nothing  to 
spare  of  him.  The  head-quarters  party  had  dined  on 
him  the  previous  day,  and  only  groaned  when  that 
Mark  Tapley  of  a  surgeon  remarked  that  if  this  was 
Donnybrook  Fare  it  was  tougher  than  all  the  stories 
ever  told  of  it.  Poor  old  Donnybrook !  He  had 
recked  not  of  the  coming  woe  that  blissful  hour  by 
the  side  of  the  rippling  Yellowstone.  His  head  was 
deep  in  my  lap,  his  muzzle  buried  in  oats ;  he  took  no 
thought  for  the  morrow, — he  would  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  and  ask  no  questions  as  to  what  was  to  happen , 
and  so  absorbed  were  we  in  our  occupation — he  in  his 
happiness,  I  in  the  contemplation  thereof — that  neither 
of  us  noticed  the  rapid  approach  of  a  third  party  until 
a  whinny  of  astonishment  sounded  close  beside  us,  and 
Van,  trailing  his  lariat  and  picket-pin  after  him,  came 
trotting  up,  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and,  un 
hesitatingly  ranging  alongside  his  comrade  of  coarser 
mould  and  thrusting  his  velvet  muzzle  into  my  lap, 
looked  wistfully  into  my  face  with  his  great  soft  brown 
eyes  and  pleaded  for  his  share.  Another  minute,  and, 
despite  the  churlish  snappings  and  threatening  heels 
of  Donnybrook,  Van  was  supplied  with  a  portion  as 
big  as  little  Benjamin's,  and,  stretching  myself  beside 
him  on  the  sandy  shore,  I  lay  and  watched  his  enjoy 
ment.  From  that  hour  he  seemed  to  take  me  into  his 
confidence,  and  his  was  a  friendship  worth  having. 
Time  and  again  on  the  march  to  the  Little  Missouri  an4 


248  VAN. 

southward  to  the  Hills  he  indulged  me  with  some 
slight  but  unmistakable  proof  that  he  held  me  in  es 
teem  and  grateful  remembrance.  It  may  have  been 
only  a  bid  for  more  oats,  but  he  kept  it  up  long  after 
he  knew  there  was  not  an  oat  in  Dakota, — that  part 
of  it,  at  least.  But  Van  was  awfully  pulled  down  by 
the  time  we  reached  the  pine-barrens  up  near  Dead- 
wood.  The  scanty  supply  of  forage  there  obtained 
(at  starvation  price)  would  not  begin  to  give  each  sur 
viving  horse  in  the  three  regiments  a  mouthful.  And 
so  by  short  stages  we  plodded  along  through  the  pictu 
resque  beauty  of  the  wild  Black  Hills,  and  halted  at 
last  in  the  deep  valley  of  French  Creek.  Here  there 
was  grass  for  the  horses  and  rest  for  the  men. 

For  a  week  now  Van  had  been  my  undivided 
property,  and  was  the  object  of  tender  solicitude  on 
the  part  of  my  German  orderly,  "  Preuss,"  and  my 
self.  The  colonel  had  chosen  for  his  house  the  foot 
of  a  big  pine-tree  up  a  little  ravine,  and  I  was  billeted 
alongside  a  fallen  ditto  a  few  yards  away.  Down  the 
ravine,  in  a  little  clump  of  trees,  the  head-quarters 
stables  were  established,  and  here  were  gathered  at 
nightfall  the  chargers  of  the  colonel  and  his  staff. 
Custer  City,  an  almost  deserted  village,  lay  but  a  few 
miles  off  to  the  west,  and  thither  I  had  gone  the 
moment  I  could  get  leave,  and  my  mission  was  oats. 
Three  stores  were  still  open,  and,  now  that  the  troops 
had  come  swarming  down,  were  doing  a  thriving  busi 
ness.  Whiskey,  tobacco,  bottled  beer,  canned  lobster, 
canned  anything,  could  be  had  in  profusion,  but  not  a 
grain  of  oats,  barley,  or  corn.  I  went  over  to  a  miner's 
wagon-train  and  offered  ten  dollars  for  a  sack  of  oats, 


VAN.  249 

The  boss  teamster  said  he  would  not  sell  oats  for  a 
cent  apiece  if  he  had  them,  and  so  sent  me  back  down 
the  valley  sore  at  heart,  for  I  knew  Van's  eyes,  those 
great  soft  brown  eyes,  would  be  pleading  the  moment 
I  came  in  sight ;  and  I  knew  more, — that  somewhere 
the  colonel  had  "  made  a  raise/7  that  he  had  one  sack, 
for  Preuss  had  seen  it,  and  Cliunka  Witko  had  had  a 
peck  of  oats  the  night  before  and  another  that  very 
morning.  Sure  enough,  Van  was  waiting,  and  the 
moment  he  saw  me  coming  up  the  ravine  he  quit  his 
munching  at  the  scanty  herbage,  and,  with  ears  erect 
and  eager  eyes,  came  quickly  towards  me,  whinnying 
welcome  and  inquiry  at  the  same  instant.  Sugar  and 
hard-tack,  delicacies  he  often  fancied  in  prosperous 
times,  he  took  from  my  hand  even  now ;  he  was  too 
truly  a  gentleman  at  heart  to  refuse  them  when  he  saw 
they  were  all  I  had  to  give ;  but  he  could  not  under 
stand  why  the  big  colt  should  have  his  oats  and  he, 
Van,  the  racer  and  the  hero  of  two  months  ago,  should 
starve,  and  I  could  not  explain  it. 

That  night  Preuss  came  up  and  stood  attention  before 
my  fire,  where  I  sat  jotting  down  some  memoranda  in  a 
note-book : 

"  Lieutenant,  I  kent  shtaendt  ut  no  longer  yet.  Dot 
scheneraPs  horse  he  git  oats  ag'in  diesen  abent,  unt  Ven, 
he  git  noddings,  unt  he  look,  unt  look.  He  ot  dot  golt 
unt  den  ot  me  look,  unt  I  couldn't  shtaendt  ut,  lieuten 
ant " 

And  Preuss  stopped  short  and  winked  hard  and  drew 
his  ragged  shirt-sleeve  across  his  eyes. 

Neither  could  I  "shtaendt  ut."  I  jumped  up  and 
went  to  the  colonel  and  begged  a  hatful  of  his  precious 


250  VAN. 

oats,  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  Van's.  "  Self-preserva 
tion  is  the  first  law  of  nature,"  and  your  own  horse 
before  that  of  all  the  world  is  the  cavalryman's  creed. 
It  was  a  heap  to  ask,  but  Van's  claim  prevailed,  and 
down  the  dark  ravine  "  in  the  gloaming"  Preuss  and 
I  hastened  with  eager  steps  and  two  hats  full  of  oats ; 
and  that  rascal  Van  heard  us  laugh,  and  answered 
with  impatient  neigh.  He  knew  we  had  not  come 
empty-handed  this  time. 

Next  morning,  when  every  sprig  and  leaf  was  glis 
tening  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  with  its  frosty  dew, 
Preuss  led  Van  away  up  the  ravine  to  picket  him  on  a 
little  patch  of  grass  he  had  discovered  the  day  before 
and  as  he  passed  the  colonel's  fire  a  keen-eyed  old 
veteran  of  the  cavalry  service,  who  had  stopped  to  have 
a  chat  with  our  chief,  dropped  the  stick  on  which  he  was 
whittling  and  stared  hard  at  our  attenuated  racer. 

"  Whose  horse  is  that,  orderly  ?"   he  asked. 

"  De  etschudant's,  colonel,"  said  Preuss,  in  his  labored 
dialect. 

"  The  adjutant's !  Where  did  he  get  him  ?  Why, 
that  horse  is  a  runner !"  said  "  Black  Bill,"  apprecia 
tively. 

And  pretty  soon  Preuss  came  back  to  me,  chuckling. 
He  had  not  smiled  for  six  weeks. 

"  Ven — he  veels  pully  dis  morning,"  he  explained. 
"  Dot  Colonel  Royle  he  shpeak  mit  him  unt  pet  him, 
unt  Ven,  he  laeif  unt  gick  up  mit  his  hint  leeks.  He 
git  veil  bretty  gwick  yet." 

Two  days  afterwards  we  broke  up  our  bivouac  on 
French  Creek,  for  every  blade  of  grass  was  eaten  off, 
and  pushed  over  the  hills  to  its  near  neighbor,  Amphib- 


VAN.  251 

ious  Creek,  an  eccentric  stream  whose  habit  of  diving 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  at  unexpected  turns  and 
disappearing  from  sight  entirely,  only  to  come  up 
surging  and  boiling  some  miles  farther  down  the  valley, 
had  suggested  its  singular  name.  "  It  was  half  land, 
half  water,"  explained  the  topographer  of  the  first  ex 
pedition  that  had  located  and  named  the  streams  in 
these  jealously-guarded  haunts  of  the  red  men.  Over 
on  Amphibious  Creek  we  were  joined  by  a  motley  gang 
of  recruits  just  enlisted  in  the  distant  cities  of  the  East 
and  sent  out  to  help  us  fight  Indians.  One  out  of  ten 
might  know  how  to  load  a  gun,  but  as  frontier  soldiers 
not  one  in  fifty  was  worth  having.  But  they  brought 
with  them  capital  horses,  strong,  fat,  grain-fed,  and 
these  we  campaigners  levied  on  at  once.  Merritt  led 
the  old  soldiers  and  the  new  horses  down  into  the  valley 
of  the  Cheyenne  on  a  chase  after  some  scattering  Indian 
bands,  while  "  Black  Bill"  was  left  to  hammer  the  re 
cruits  into  shape  and  teach  them  how  to  care  for  invalid 
horses.  Two  handsome  young  sorrels  had  come  to  me 
as  my  share  of  the  plunder,  and  with  these  for  alternate 
mounts  I  rode  the  Cheyenne  raid,  leaving  Van  to  the 
fostering  care  of  the  gallant  old  cavalryman  who  had 
been  so  struck  with  his  points  the  week  previous. 

One  week  more,  and  the  reunited  forces  of  the  ex 
pedition,  Van  and  all,  trotted  in  to  "  round  up"  the 
semi-belligerent  warriors  at  the  Red  Cloud  agency  on 
White  River,  and,  as  the  war-ponies  and  rifles  of  the 
scowling  braves  were  distributed  among  the  loyal  scouts, 
and  dethroned  Machpealota  (old  Red  Cloud)  turned 
over  the  government  of  the  great  Sioux  nation,  Ogallal- 
las  and  all,  to  his  more  reliable  rival,  Sintegaliska,— 


252  VAN. 

Spotted  Tail, — Van  surveyed  the  ceremony  of  abdica 
tion  from  between  my  legs,  and  had  the  honor  of  re 
ceiving  an  especial  pat  and  an  admiring  "  Washtay" 
from  the  new  chieftain  and  lord  of  the  loyal  Sioux. 
His  highness  Spotted  Tail  was  pleased  to  say  that  he 
wouldn't  mind  swapping  four  of  his  ponies  for  Van, 
and  made  some  further  remarks  which  my  limited 
knowledge  of  the  Brule*  Dakota  tongue  did  not  enable 
me  to  appreciate  as  they  deserved.  The  fact  that  the 
venerable  chieftain  had  hinted  that  he  might  be  in 
duced  to  throw  in  a  spare  squaw  "  to  boot"  was  there 
fore  lost,  and  Van  was  saved.  Early  November  found 
us,  after  an  all-summer  march  of  some  three  thousand 
miles,  once  more  within  sight  and  sound  of  civilization. 
Van  and  I  had  taken  station  at  Fort  D.  A.  Russell, 
and  the  bustling  prairie  city  of  Cheyenne  lay  only  three 
miles  away.  Here  it  was  that  Van  became  my  pet 
and  pride.  Here  he  lived  his  life  of  ease  and  triumph, 
and  here,  gallant  fellow,  he  met  his  knightly  fate. 

Once  settled  at  Russell,  all  the  officers  of  the  regi 
ment  who  were  blessed  with  wives  and  children  were 
speedily  occupied  in  getting  their  quarters  ready  for 
their  reception ;  and  late  in  November  my  own  little 
household  arrived  and  were  presented  to  Van.  He 
was  then  domesticated  in  a  rude  but  comfortable  stable 
in  rear  of  my  little  army-house,  and  there  he  slept, 
was  groomed  and  fed,  but  never  confined.  He  had  the 
run  of  our  yard,  and,  after  critical  inspection  of  the 
wood-shed,  the  coal-hole,  and  the  kitchen,  Van  seemed 
to  decide  upon  the  last-named  as  his  favorite  resort. 
He  looked  with  curious  and  speculative  eyes  upon  our 
darky  cook  on  the  arrival  of  that  domestic  functionary, 


VAN.  253 

and  seemed  for  once  in  his  life  to  be  a  trifle  takes 
aback  by  the  sight  of  her  woolly  pate  and  Ethiopian 
complexion.  Hannah,  however,  was  duly  instructed 
by  her  mistress  to  treat  Van  on  all  occasions  with  great 
consideration,  and  this  to  Hannah's  darkened  intellect 
meant  unlimited  loaf-sugar.  The  adjutant  could  not 
fail  to  note  that  Van  was  almost  always  to  be  seen 
standing  at  the  kitchen  door,  and  on  those  rare  occa 
sions  when  he  himself  was  permitted  to  invade  those 
premises  he  was  never  surprised  to  find  Van's  shapely 
head  peering  in  at  the  window,  or  head,  neck,  and 
shoulders  bulging  in  at  the  wood-shed  beyond. 

Yet  the  ex-champion  and  racer  did  not  live  an  idle 
existence.  He  had  his  hours  of  duty,  and  keenly 
relished  them.  Office-work  over  at  orderly-call,  at 
high  noon  it  was  the  adjutant's  custom  to  return  to' his 
quarters  and  speedily  to  appear  in  riding-dress  on  the 
front  piazza.  At  about  the  same  moment  Van,  duly 
caparisoned,  would  be  led  forth  from  his  paddock,  and 
in  another  moment  he  and  his  rider  would  be  flying 
off  across  the  breezy  level  of  the  prairie.  Cheyenne, 
as  has  been  said,  lay  just  three  miles  away,  and 
thither  Van  would  speed  with  long,  elastic  strides,  as 
though  glorying  in  his  powers.  It  was  at  once  his 
exercise  and  his  enjoyment,  and  to  his  rider  it  was  the 
best  hour  of  the  day.  He  rode  alone,  for  no  horse  at 
Russell  could  keep  alongside.  He  rode  at  full  speed, 
for  in  all  the  twenty-four  that  hour  from  twelve  to  one 
tvas  the  only  one  he  could  call  his  own  for  recreation 
%nd  for  healthful  exercise.  He  rode  to  Cheyenne  that 
he  might  be  present  at  the  event  of  the  day, — the 
arrival  of  the  trans-continental  train  from  the  East. 

22 


254  VAN. 

He  sometimes  rode  beyond,  that  he  might  meet  the 
train  when  it  was  belated  and  race  it  back  to  town ; 
and  this — this  was  Van's  glory.  The  rolling  prairie 
lay  open  and  free  on  each  side  of  the  iron  track,  and 
"Van  soon  learned  to  take  his  post  upon  a  little  mound 
whence  the  coming  of  the  "  express"  could  be  marked, 
and,  as  it  flared  into  sight  from  the  darkness  of  the 
distant  snow-shed,  Van,  all  a-tremble  with  excitement, 
would  begin  to  leap  and  plunge  and  tug  at  the  bit  and 
beg  for  the  word  to  go.  Another  moment,  and,  care 
fully  held  until  just  as  the  puffing  engine  came  well 
alongside,  Van  would  leap  like  arrow  from  the  string, 
and  away  we  would  speed,  skimming  along  the  springy 
turf.  Sometimes  the  engineer  would  curb  his  iron 
horse  and  hold  him  back  against  the  "down-grade" 
impetus  of  the  heavy  Pullmans  far  in  rear;  sometimes 
he  would  open  his  throttle  and  give  her  full  head,  and 
the  long  train  would  seem  to  leap  into  space,  whirling 
clouds  of  dust  from  under  the  whirling  wheels,  and 
then  Van  would  almost  tear  his  heart  out  to  keep 
alongside. 

Month  after  month  through  the  sharp  mountain 
winter,  so  long  as  the  snow  was  not  whirling  through 
the  air  in  clouds  too  dense  to  penetrate,  Van  and  his 
master  had  their  joyous  gallops.  Then  came  the  spring, 
slow,  shy,  and  reluctant  as  the  springtide  sets  in  on 
that  high  plateau  in  mid-continent,  and  Van  had  become 
even  more  thoroughly  domesticated.  He  now  looked 
upon  himself  as  one  of  the  family,  and  he  knew  the 
dining-room  window,  and  there,  thrice  each  day  and 
sometimes  at  odd  hours  between,  he  would  take  his 
station  while  the  household  was  at  table  and  plead 


VAN.  255 

with  those  great  soft  brown  eyes  for  sugar.  Com 
missary-bills  ran  high  that  winter,  and  cut  loaf-sugar 
was  an  item  of  untold  expenditure.  He  had  found  a 
new  ally  and  friend, — a  little  girl  with  eyes  as  deep 
and  dark  as  and  browner  than  his  own,  a  winsome 
little  maid  of  three,  whose  golden,  sunshiny  hair  floated 
about  her  bonny  head  and  sweet  serious  face  like  a 
halo  of  light  from  another  world.  Van  "  took  to  her" 
from  the  very  first.  He  courted  the  caress  of  her 
little  hand,  and  won  her  love  and  trust  by  the  discre 
tion  of  his  movements  when  she  was  near.  As  soon 
as  the  days  grew  warm  enough,  she  was  always  out  on 
the  front  piazza  when  Van  and  I  came  home  from  our 
daily  gallop,  and  then  she  would  trot  out  to  meet  us 
and  be  lifted  to  her  perch  on  the  pommel ;  and  then, 
with  mincing  gait,  like  lady's  palfrey,  stepping  as  though 
he  might  tread  on  eggs  and  yet  not  crush  them,  Van 
would  take  the  little  one  on  her  own  share  of  the  ride. 
And  so  it  was  that  the  loyal  friendship  grew  and 
strengthened.  The  one  trick  he  had  was  never  ven 
tured  upon  when  she  was  on  his  back,  even  after  she 
became  accustomed  to  riding  at  rapid  gait  and  enjoy 
ing  the  springy  canter  over  the  prairie  before  Van 
went  back  to  his  stable.  It  was  a  strange  trick  :  it 
proved  a  fatal  one. 

No  other  horse  I  ever  rode  had  one  just  like  it. 
Running  at  full  speed,  his  hoofs  fairly  flashing  through 
the  air  and  never  seeming  to  touch  the  ground,  he 
would  suddenly,  as  it  were,  "  change  step"  and  gallop 
"  disunited,"  as  we  cavalrymen  would  say.  At  first  I 
thought  it  must  be  that  he  struck  some  rolling  stone, 
but  soon  I  found  that  when  bounding  over  the  soft 


256  VAN. 

turf  it  was  just  the  same ;  and  the  men  who  knew 
him  in  the  days  of  his  prime  in  Arizona  had  noted  it 
there.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  do  for  it  but 
make  him  change  back  as  quick  as  possible  on  the  run, 
for  Van  was  deaf  to  remonstrance  and  proof  against 
the  rebuke  of  spur.  Perhaps  he  could  not  control  the 
fault;  at  all  events  he  did  not,  and  the  effect  was  not 
pleasant.  The  rider  felt  a  sudden  jar,  as  though  the 
horse  had  come  down  stiff-legged  from  a  hurdle-leap ; 
and  sometimes  it  would  be  so  sharp  as  to  shake  loose 
the  forage-cap  upon  his  rider's  head.  He  sometimes 
did  it  when  going  at  easy  lope,  but  never  when  his 
little  girl-friend  was  on  his  back ;  then  he  went  on 
springs  of  air. 

One  bright  May  morning  all  the  different  "  troops," 
as  the  cavalry-companies  are  termed,  were  out  at  drill 
on  the  broad  prairie.  The  colonel  was  away,  the  officer 
of  the  day  was  out  drilling  his  own  company,  the  ad 
jutant  was  seated  in  his  office  hard  at  work  over  regi 
mental  papers,  when  in  came  the  sergeant  of  the  guard, 
breathless  and  excited. 

"  Lieutenant,"  he  cried,  "  six  general  prisoners  have 
escaped  from  the  guard-house.  They  have  got  away 
down  the  creek  towards  town." 

In  hurried  question  and  answer  the  facts  were  speedily 
brought  out.  Six  hard  customers,  awaiting  sentence 
after  trial  for  larceny,  burglary,  assault  with  intent  to 
kill,  and  finally  desertion,  had  been  cooped  up  together 
in  an  inner  room  of  the  ramshackle  old  wooden  build 
ing  that  served  for  a  prison,  had  sawed  their 'way  through 
to  open  air,  and,  timing  their  essay  by  the  sound  of  the 
trumpets  that  told  them  the  whole  garrison  would  be 


VAN.  257 

out  at  morning  drill,  had  slipped  through  the  gap  at  the 
right  moment,  slid  down  the  hill  into  the  creek-bottom, 
and  then  scurried  off  townward.  A  sentinel  down  near 
the  stables  had  caught  sight  of  them,  but  they  were  out 
of  view  long  before  his  shouts  had  summoned  the  cor 
poral  of  the  guard. 

No  time  was  to  be  lost.  They  were  malefactors  and 
vagabonds  of  the  worst  character.  Two  of  their  num 
ber  had  escaped  before  and  had  made  it  their  boast  that 
they  could  break  away  from  the  Russell  guard  at  any 
time.  Directing  the  sergeant  to  return  to  his  guard, 
and  hurriedly  scribbling  a  note  to  the  officer  of  the  day, 
who  had  his  whole  troop  with  him  in  the  saddle  out  on 
the  prairie,  and  sending  it  by  the  hand  of  the  sergeant- 
major,  the  adjutant  hurried  to  his  own  quarters  and 
called  for  Van.  The  news  had  reached  there  already. 
News  of  any  kind  travels  like  wildfire  in  a  garrison, 
and  Van  was  saddled  and  bridled  before  the  adjutant 
reached  the  gate. 

"  Bring  me  my  revolver  and  belt, — quick,"  he  said 
to  the  servant,  as  he  swung  into  saddle.  The  man 
darted  into  the  house  and  came  back  with  the  belt  and 
holster. 

"  I  was  cleaning  your  '  Colt/  sir,"  ho  said,  "  but  here's 
the  Smith  &  Wesson,"  handing  up  the  burnished  nickel- 
plated  weapon  then  in  use  experimentally  on  the  fron 
tier.  Looking  only  to  see  that  fresh  cartridges  were  in 
each  chamber  and  that  the  hammer  was  on  the  safety- 
notch,  the  adjutant  thrust  it  into  the  holster,  and  in  an 
instant  he  and  Van  flew  through  the  east  gate  in  rapid 
pursuit. 

Oh,  how  gloriously  Van  ran  that  day  !  Out  on  the 
r  22* 


258  VAN. 

prairie  the  gay  guidons  of  the  troops  were  fluttering  in 
the  brilliant  sunshine;  here,  there,  everywhere,  the 
skirmish-lines  and  reserves  were  dotting  the  plain  ;  the 
air  was  ringing  with  the  merry  trumpet-calls  and  the 
stirring  words  of  command.  Yet  men  forgot  their  drill 
and  reined  up  on  the  line  to  watch  Van  as  he  flashed 
by,  wondering,  too,  what  could  take  the  adjutant  off  at 
such  an  hour  and  at  such  a  pace. 

"  What's  the  row  ?"  shouted  the  commanding  officer 
of  one  company. 

"  Prisoners  loose,"  was  the  answer  shouted  back,  but 
only  indistinctly  heard.  On  went  Van  like  one  inspired, 
and  as  we  cleared  the  drill-ground  and  got  well  out  on 
the  open  plain  in  long  sweeping  curve,  we  changed  our 
course,  aiming  more  to  the  right,  so  as  to  strike  the 
valley  west  of  the  town.  It  was  possible  to  get  there 
first  and  head  them  off.  Then  suddenly  I  became  aware 
of  something  jolting  up  and  down  behind  me.  My 
hand  went  back  in  search  :  there  was  no  time  to  look : 
the  prairie  just  here  was  cut  up  with  little  gopher-holes 
and  criss-crossed  by  tiny  canals  from  the  main  acequia, 
or  irrigating  ditch.  It  was  that  wretched  Smith  & 
"Wesson  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  holster.  The  Colt 
revolver  of  the  day  was  a  trifle  longer,  and  my  man  in 
changing  pistols  had  not  thought  to  change  holsters. 
This  one,  made  for  the  Colt,  was  too  long  and  loose  by 
half  an  inch,  and  the  pistol  was  pounding  up  and  down 
with  every  stride.  Just  ahead  of  us  came  the  flash  of 
the  sparkling  water  in  one  of  the  little  ditches.  Van 
cleared  it  in  his  stride  with  no  effort  whatever.  Then, 
just  beyond, — oh,  fatal  trick  ! — seemingly  when  in  mid 
air  he  changed  step,  striking  the  ground  with  a  sudden 


VAN.  259 

shock  that  jarred  us  both  and  flung  the  downward- 
pointed  pistol  up  against  the  closely-buttoned  holster- 
flap.  There  was  a  sharp  report,  and  my  heart  stood 
still  an  instant.  I  knew — oh,  well  I  knew  it  was  the 
death-note  of  my  gallant  pet.  On  he  went,  never 
swaying,  never  swerving,  never  slackening  his  racing 
speed ;  but,  turning  in  the  saddle  and  glancing  back,  I 
saw,  just  back  of  the  cantle,  just  to  the  right  of  the 
ftpine  in  the  glossy  brown  back,  that  one  tiny,  grimy, 
powder-stained  hole.  I  knew  the  deadly  bullet  had 
ranged  downward  through  his  very  vitals.  I  knew 
that  Van  had  run  his  last  race,  was  even  now  rushing 
towards  a  goal  he  would  never  reach.  Fast  as  he  might 
fly,  he  could  not  leave  Death  behind. 

The  chase  was  over.  Looking  back,  I  could  see  the 
troopers  already  hastening  in  pursuit,  but  we  were  out 
of  the  race.  Gently,  firmly  I  drew  the  rein.  Both 
hands  were  needed,  for  Van  had  never  stopped  here, 
and  some  strange  power  urged  him  on  now.  Full  three 
hundred  yards  he  ran  before  he  would  consent  to  halt. 
Then  I  sprang  from  the  saddle  and  ran  to  his  head. 
His  eyes  met  mine.  Soft  and  brown,  and  larger  than 
ever,  they  gazed  imploringly.  Pain  and  bewilderment, 
strange,  wistful  pleading,  but  all  the  old  love  and  trust, 
were  there  as  I  threw  my  arms  about  his  neck  and 
bowed  his  head  upon  my  breast.  I  could  not  bear  to 
meet  his  eyes.  I  could  not  look  into  them  and  read 
there  the  deadly  pain  and  faintness  that  were  rapidly 
robbing  them  of  their  lustre,  but  that  could  not  shake 
their  faith  in  his  friend  and  master.  No  wonder  mine 
grew  sightless  as  his  own  through  swimming  tears.  I 
who  had  killed  him  could  not  face  his  last  conscious  gaze. 


260  VAN. 

One  moment  more,  and,  swaying,  tottering  first  from 
Bide  to  side,  poor  Van  fell  with  heavy  thud  upon  the 
turf.  Kneeling,  I  took  his  head  in  my  arms  and  strove 
to  call  back  one  sign  of  recognition  ;  but  all  that  was 
gone.  Van's  spirit  was  ebbing  away  in  some  fierce, 
wild  dream  :  his  glazing  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy  ;  his 
breath  came  in  quick,  convulsive  gasps ;  great  tremors 
shook  his  frame,  growing  every  instant  more  violent. 
Suddenly  a  fiery  light  shot  into  his  dying  eyes.  The 
old  high  mettle  leaped  to  vivid  life,  and  then,  as  though 
the  flag  had  dropped,  the  starting-drum  had  tapped, 
Van's  fleeting  spirit  whirled  into  his  dying  race.  Lying 
on  his  side,  his  hoofs  flew  through  the  air,  his  powerful 
limbs  worked  back  and  forth  swifter  than  ever  in  their 
swiftest  gallop,  his  eyes  were  aflame,  his  nostrils  wide 
distended,  his  chest  heaving,  and  his  magnificent  ma 
chinery  running  like  lightning.  Only  for  a  minute, 
though, — only  for  one  short,  painful  minute.  It  was 
only  a  half-mile  dash, — poor  old  fellow  ! — only  a  hope 
less  struggle  against  a  rival  that  never  knew  defeat. 
Suddenly  all  ceased  as  suddenly  as  all  began.  One 
stiffening  quiver,  one  long  sigh,  and  my  pet  and  pride 
was  gone.  Old  friends  were  near  him  even  then.  "  I 
was  with  him  when  he  won  his  first  race  at  Tucson," 
said  old  Sergeant  Donnelly,  who  had  ridden  to  our  aid, 
"  and  I  knowed  then  he  would  die  racing." 


THE   END. 


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New  York  Churchman. 

Recent    Rambles  ;  Or,  in  Touch  with  Nature. 
Illustrated.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $2.00. 

"  In  the  literature  of  nature  Dr.  Abbott's  books  hold  a  peculiar  place.  With 
all  their  close  application  they  are  not  too  technical,  and  their  charm  for  the  general 
reader  is  the  more  potent  in  that  this  is  so.  We  all  love  nature,  but  we  do  not  all 
care  to  embark  in  a  study  of  ornithology,  botany,  and  zoology  in  order  to  appreciate 
it ;  and  in  this  new  volume  we  find  how  keen  our  enjoyment  can  be,  even  if  we  do 
not  possess  such  scientific  knowledge.  Those,  on  the  other  hand,  who  are  already 
students  of  nature,  will  be  fascinated  by  the  wide  and  accurate  information  gained 
for  them  by  the  Doctor's  numerous  tramps  and  multiplied  hours  of  observant  idle 
ness.  The  book  is  full  of  touches  of  humor,  unexpected  turns,  and  pungent  say 
ings,  and  should  be  perused  by  every  one  of  our  readers." — Commercial  Adver 
tiser  (Detroit).  

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Frances  Courtenay  Baylor. 


On  Both  Sides. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  novel,  entertaining  from  beginning  to  end,  with  brightness  that  never  falls 
flat,  that  always  suggests  something  beyond  the  mere  amusement,  that  will  be  most 
enjoyed  by  those  of  most  cultivation,  that  is  clever,  keen,  and  intellectual  enough 
to  be  recognized  as  genuine  wit,  and  yet  good  natured  and  amiable  enough  to  be 
accepted  as  the  most  delightful  humor.  It  is  not  fun,  but  intelligent  wit :  it  is  not 
mere  comicality,  but  charming  humor ;  it  is  not  a  collection  of  bright  sayings  of 
clever  people,  but  a  reproduction  of  ways  of  thought  and  types  of  manner  infinitely 
entertaining  to  the  reader,  while  not  in  the  least  funny  to  the  actor,  or  intended  by 
him  to  appear  funny.  It  is  inimitably  good  as  a  rendering  of  the  peculiarities  of 
British  and  American  nature  and  training,  while  it  is  so  perfectly  free  from  anything 
like  ridicule,  that  the  victims  would  be  the  first  to  smile." — The  Critic. 


Behind  the  Blue  Ridge. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  It  is  lighted  through  and  through  by  humor  as  subtle  and  spontaneous  as  any 
that  ever  brightened  the  dark  pages  of  life  history,  and  is  warmed  by  that  keen 
sympathy  and  love  for  human  nature  which  transfigures  and  ennobles  everything  it 
touches." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Intensely  dramatic  in  construction,  rich  in  color,  picturesque  in  description, 
and  artistic  in  its  setting.  No  more  delightful  picture  of  the  every-day  life  of  the 
Virginia  mountaineers  could  well  be  imagined." — Philadelphia  Record. 

A   Shocking   Example,  and  Other  Sketches. 
I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Rarely  have  we  enjoyed  a  more  delightful  series  of  literary  entertainments 
than  have  been  afforded  by  the  handsome  volume  containing  fourteen  stories  and 
sketches  from  the  bright  pen  of  Frances  Courtenay  Baylor,  whose  '  On  Both  Sides' 
has  won  for  her  so  enviable  a  reputation  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic." — Boston 
Home  Journal. 


Miss  Baylor's  complete  works  ("  A  Shocking  Example,"  "  On 
Both  Sides,"  and  "Behind  the  Blue  Ridge"),  three  volumes,  in 
box,  $3.75.  

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  John  Strange  Winter, 

(Mrs.  Arthur  Stannard.) 


A  Magnificent  Young  Man. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  There  is  a  happy  mingling  of  comedy  and  tragedy  in  A  Magnificent  Young 
Man.  It  is  a  story  with  an  original  plot,  involving  a  secret  marriage,  the  mysteri 
ous  disappearance  of  a  bridegroom,  and  the  experiences  of  a  young  girl,  who 
refuses  to  clear  her  reputation,  even  to  the  mother  of  her  unacknowledged  husband, 
until  such  a  time  as  he  shall  give  permission.  r\  he  plot  is  well  sustained,  the  in 
cidents  and  dialogue  are  entertaining,  and  the  mystery  is  kept  up  long  enough  to 
hold  the  close  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  last  chapter." — Boston  Beacon. 

Every  Inch  a  Soldier. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Of  the  incidents  of  the  work  before  us,  the  plot  is  highly  entertaining,  and 
incidentally  we  meet  the  Bishop  of  Blankhampton,  whose  matrimonial  affairs  were 
ably  discussed  in  a  book  previously  written.  It  is  a  very  pleasant  and  readable 
book,  and  we  are  glad  to  see  it."— Norrtstown  Herald. 

Aunt  Johnnie. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $l.oo. 

"  Mrs.  Stannard  preserves  her  freshness  and  vivacity  in  a  wonderful  way. 
'  Aunt  Johnnie'  is  as  bright  and  amusing  a  story  as  any  that  she  has  written,  and 
it  rattles  on  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  with  unabated  gayety  and  vigor.  The 
hero  and  heroine  are  both  charming,  and  the  frisky  matron  who  gives  the  story  its 
name  is  a  capitally  managed  character.  The  novel  is  exactly  suited  to  the  season, 
and  is  sure  to  be  very  popular." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

The  Other  Man's  Wife. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  hero  and  heroine  have  a  charm  which  is  really  unusual  in  these  hack 
neyed  personages,  for  they  are  most  attractive  and  wholesome  types.  Indeed, 
wholesomeness  may  be  said  to  be  the  most  notable  characteristic  of  this  author's 
work."— N.  Y.  Telegram. 

Only  Human. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $l.oo. 

"A  bright  and  interesting  story.  ...  Its  pathos  and  humor  are  of  the 
same  admirable  quality  that  is  found  in  all  the  other  novels  by  this  author." — Boston 
Gazette. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett  Cameron 


i 

A  Tragic  Blunder.  A  Bad  Lot. 

A  Daughter's  Heart.  A  Sister's  Sin. 

Jack's  Secret. 

izmo.     Paper,  50  cents ;  cloth,  $1.00. 


"•Mrs.  Cameron's  novels,  'In  a  Grass  Country/  'A  Daughter's  Heart,' 
'  A  Sister's  Sin,'  '  Jack's  Secret,'  have  shown  a  high  skill  in  inventing  interesting 
plots  and  delineating  character.  All  her  stories  are  vivid  hi  action  and  pure  in 
tone.  This  one, '  A  Tragic  Blunder/  is  equal  to  her  best."— National  Tribune. 


This  Wicked  World. 

In  a  Grass  Country.  A  Devout  Lover. 

Vera  Neville.  A  Life's  Mistake. 

Pure  Gold.  Worth  Winning. 

The  Cost  of  a  Lie.  A  Lost  Wife. 

Cloth,  |i.oo. 


"  The  works  of  this  author  are  always  pure  in  character,  and  can  be  safely  put 
into  the  hands  of  young  as  well  as  old." — Norristo-wn  Herald. 

"  A  wide  circle  of  admirers  always  welcome  a  new  work  by  this  favorite  author. 
Her  style  is  pure  and  interesting,  and  she  depicts  marvellously  well  the  daily  social 
:ife  of  the  English  people." — St.  Louis  Republic. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister's  Translations. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00  per  volume. 


COUNTESS  ERIKA'S  APPRENTICESHIP By  Ossip  Schubin. 

"O  THOU,  MY  AUSTRIA  !" By  Ossip  Schubin. 

ERLACH  COURT By  Ossip  Schubin. 

THE  ALPINE  FAY By  E.  Werner. 

THE  OWL'S  NEST By  E.  Marlitt. 

PICKED  UP  IN  THE  STREETS By  H.  Schobert. 

SAINT  MICHAEL By  E.  Werner. 

VIOLETTA By  Ursula  Zoge  von  Manteufel. 

THE  I,ADY  WITH  THE  RUBIES By  E.  Marlitt. 

VAIN  FOREBODINGS By  E  Oswald. 

A  PENNILESS  GIRL By  W.  Heimburg. 

QUICKSANDS By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 

BANNED  AND  BLESSED By  E-  Werner. 

A  NOBLE  NAME By  Claire  von  Gltimer. 

FROM  HAND  TO  HAND By  Golo  Raimund. 

SEVERA By  E.  Hartner. 

A  NEW  RACE By  Golo  Raimund. 

THE  EICHHOFS By  Moritz  von  Reichenbach. 

CASTLE  HOHENWALD By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 

MARGARETHE By  E.  Juncker. 

Too  RICH By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 

A  FAMILY  FEUD By  Ludwig  Harder. 

THE  GREEN  GATE By  Ernst  Wichert. 

ONLY  A  GIRL By  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern. 

WHY  DID  HE  NOT  DIE  ? By  Ad.  von  Volckhauser. 

HULDA By  Fanny  Lewald. 

THE  BAILIFF'S  MAID By  E.  Marlitt. 

IN  THE  SCHILLINGSCOURT By  E.  Marlitt. 

COUNTESS  GISELA By  E.  Marlitt. 

AT  THE  COUNCILLOR'S By  E.  Marlitt. 

THE  SECOND  WIFE By  E.-  Marlitt. 

THE  OLD  MAM'SELLE'S  SECRET By  E.  Marlitt. 

GOLD  ELSIE By  E.  Marlitt. 

THE  LTTTLE  MOORLAND  PRINCESS By  E.  Marlitt. 


"  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister,  through  her  many  translations  of  novels  from  the  Ger 
man,  has  established  a  reputation  of  the  highest  order  for  literary  judgment,  and  for 
a  long  time  her  name  upon  the  title-page  of  such  a  translation  has  been  a  sufficient 
guarantee  to  the  lovers  of  fiction  of  a  pure  and  elevating  character,  that  the  novel 
would  be  a  cherished  home  favorite.  This  faith  in  Mrs.  Wister  is  fully  justified  by 
the  fact  that  among  her  more  than  thirty  translations  that  have  been  published  by 
Lippincott's  there  has  not  been  a  single  disappointment.  And  to  the  exquisite 
judgment  of  selection  is  to  be  added  the  rare  excellence  of  her  translations,  which 
has  commanded  the  admiration  of  literary  and  linguistic  scholars." — Boston  Ho*ie 
Journal. 


j.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Julien  Gordon. 


"  Now  and  then,  to  prove  to  men — perhaps  also  to  prove  to 
themselves — what  they  can  do  if  they  dare  and  will,  one  of 
these  gifted  women  detaches  herself  from  her  sisters,  enters  the 
arena  with  men,  to  fight  for  the  highest  prizes,  and  as  the 
brave  Gotz  says  of  Brother  Martin,  '  shames  many  a  knight. ' 
To  this  race  of  conquerers  belongs  to-day  one  of  the  first  living 
writers  of  novels  and  romances,  Julien  Gordon." 

FRIEDERICH  SPIELHAGEN. 


A  WEDDING,  and  Other  Stories. 
POPP^EA. 

A  DIPLOMAT'S  DIARY. 

A  SUCCESSFUL  MAN. 

VAMPIRES,  AND  MADEMOISELLE   RESEDA. 

Two  stories  in  one  book. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00  per  volume. 


"  The  cleverness  and  lightness  which  characterized  '  A  Diplomat's  Diary'  are 
not  wanting  in  the  later  work  of  the  American  lady  who  writes  under  the  pseudo- 
nyme  of  Julien  Gordon.  In  her  former  story  the  dialogue  is  pointed  and  alert,  the 
characters  are  clear-cut  and  distinct,  and  the  descriptions  picturesque.  As  for  the 
main  idea  of  '  A  Successful  Man,'  the  intersection  of  two  wholly  different  strata  of 
American  life,— one  fast  and  fashionable,  the  other  domestic  and  decorous, — it  is 
worked  out  with  much  skill  and  alertness  of  treatment  to  its  inevitably  tragic 
issue."—  New  York  World. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Amelie  Rives. 

Barbara  Dering, 

A  Sequel  to  "The  Quick  or  the  Dead?" 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  The  book  is  brilliantly  written  from  the  stand-point  of  a  young  woman  of 
observation,  experience,  feeling,  and  strong  convictions.  Her  characters  are  true  to 
life."— St.  Paul  Dispatch. 

"  The  conversations  of  the  principal  characters  are  full  of  that  power  which 
the  editors  of  the  Atlantic  and  of  Harper's  Monthly  found  in  Miss  Rives's  work 
in  the  early  days  of  her  writing." — Boston  Transcript. 


The  Quick  or  the  Dead  ? 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  No  story  ever  published  in  this  country  created  more  stir  and  controversy 
than  this  one.  By  many  the  work  has  been  pronounced  a  masterpiece  of  genius." 
— Baltimore  News. 

"  'THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD?'  "  says  the  New  York  Herald,  "has  made 
a  deeper  impression  on  our  American  literature  than  any  work  of  fiction  since 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  " 


The  Witness  of  the  Sun. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  That  Miss  Rives  has  been  thought  worthy  of  recognition  at  the  hands  of 
critics  North  and  South  is  the  strongest  evidence  of  the  fact  she  has  done  something 
out  of  the  common,  and  we  will  preface  whatever  we  have  to  write  by  saying  that 
we  are  not  among  the  least  of  her  admirers." — Chicago  Times. 

"  The  novel  is  exciting,  notably  in  its  concluding  chapters,  and  it  shows  re 
markable  facility  in  literary  expression,  especially  in  the  dialogue." — Boston 
Gazette. 


}.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


